


The White Window

by x_art



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 16:49:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 80,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13127658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_art/pseuds/x_art
Summary: It was obvious, now when it didn’t matter. Dumbledore had been right and so very wrong. It had been right to follow the professor’s advice, but wrong to let it go on so long. As hard as it would have been, he should have just summoned the courage and stormed Percy’s figurative castle. Even if it wouldn’t have solved anything, he should have tried.





	1. A Green Blade

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Ignis et Diluvium

 

 

 

Book I—A Green Blade

 

***

 

April 1927

 

 

“Tina! There! To your right!”

As if she were a dancer in a particularly deadly ballet, Tina crouched, twisted, and then pointed her wand at the witch and shouted, “ _Bombarda!”_

The wall behind the witch exploded and the old brick rained debris and dust in a horizontal stream. The witch tried to disapparate but the weight of the brick was too much—with a strangled curse, she crumbled to the ground, buried under a mound of rubble.

Frozen, Newt waited, arm outstretched, his breath coming in fits and starts.

“Is it safe?” Tina whispered.

“Give it a moment.”

“A moment! The other one is getting away!”

“He’s already gone,” Newt said, straightening up. He was fairly certain the witch was dead but they’d been surprised before so he muttered an _obstupefio_ spell just in case. “He used the access ladder.”

“Damnation.”

He glanced at Tina. She’d lost her hat sometime during the chase and a strand of hair was sticking to her cheek. The sight reminded him of last year and he glanced off to the side before adding, “Lopez and Ainsworth will get him, hopefully. Shall we see who—or what—tripped our trap?”

“Why bother?” Tina said, following Newt to the pile of bricks. “We know what we’ll find. His fanatics are all the same.”

“We may think we know,” he murmured, carefully lifting the rubble with his wand and letting it fall to the side in a now witch-less heap. “But we might be surprised.” The woman was indeed unconscious; she was also quite dead. A thin trickle of blood seeped from her temple into her hair. Newt crouched beside her, making sure that none of his clothing touched hers.

She was older than he by maybe twenty or twenty-five years. Pale skin and pale hair that was knotted in long, intricate braids, she was wearing a grey cloak and dress embroidered with silver thread and gemstones. Her crown-like hair and beautiful dress gave her the semblance of a princess from a fairy tale for Muggle children. If it weren’t for the bloody _GG_ she’d carved into her forehead, of course.

“Always, the same,” Newt murmured. “Fanatics, indeed.”

“They don’t all mark themselves,” Tina said as she knelt beside him. “She did it recently—the blood is barely dried.”

“Here’s another,” he replied, pointing to the faint mark on her cheek. “Much older. No doubt when your people examine her, they’ll find more. She must have loved him dearly to do such a thing.”

“That’s not love,” Tina said. “That’s obsession.”

He nodded, only half agreeing, suddenly sad. It was a chancy, inadequate thing, the barrier that separated the kind of love that made one dizzy and weak, and the kind that consumed. He knew better than anyone. He’d lived along and behind that wall for so very long. If he hadn’t been who he was, would he now be lost or insane, marking his body with initials that read—

“They’ll be here soon,” Tina said, sitting back on her heels. “You gotta go. If Ainsworth finds you, she’ll tell Picquery.”

Newt nodded. Lopez was all right if a little stuffy. Ainsworth, on the other hand, hated him like poison—she’d be more than happy to see him sent packing.

He made to get up but before he could, Tina nudged his arm.

“Hey?” she said. “It’s Friday. Queenie is making chicken soup.” She shrugged. “I was wondering…”

Newt swallowed. He hated this, hated lying, hated disappointing her. But there was nothing for it and he said as evenly as possibly, “I’m sorry, I’ve—”

“Work to do,” Tina finished for him with a nod. “You do realize that Madam Picquery didn’t intend for you to work every minute of the day when she asked the Ministry for your help, right?”

“Yes, I know.”

“You’re not supposed to assist with the actual captures but everything else—” Tina made a gesture. “You don’t need to stay cooped up in the basement each night. Queenie doesn’t understand it.” She hesitated, then looked down. “Neither do I.”

Newt couldn’t do it. He could face a school of charging nundus. He could reach inside a basilisk’s nest and pull out an egg. He could even face Grindelwald himself—and had done so—but he couldn’t hurt her and he heard himself say, “I truly am busy tonight but maybe tomorrow?”

Tina’s entire face changed with her smile. “There’s a new jazz band playing at the Black Cat. They’re supposed to be good.”

He nodded. “The Black Cat it is.” At least it would be on neutral ground; that was something.

Tina started to answer and then tipped her head, her hand up. In a moment Newt heard it too, the soft clang of metal on metal. Tina scrambled to her feet. “They’re here. You gotta go. I’ll head them off at the pass. Tomorrow night, eight o’clock; I’ll bring Queenie and Jacob.”

And then she was gone before Newt could think to stop her, suddenly remembering why he couldn’t be around Queenie of all people. With a sigh and a little more anger at his own obtuseness, he got to his feet and disapparated out.

***

Newt made it just in time. He’d apparated into his de-facto office, the basement room that was little more than a broom closet, and had just thrown his overcoat on the sofa as evidence that he’d been in the office all day, when Toothacker opened the door without knocking.

“Hey, Scamander,” Toothacker said, leaning into the room as if he were afraid to step foot inside. “Picquery wants you upstairs—they got another one.”

Newt stood up. “Another? Thanks—I was just wrapping up.”

“This early?” Toothacker looked around, his narrow eyes narrowing more with suspicion as a paper rat scampered onto the desk and unfolded into an extermination request. “Whatd’ya do all day down here, anyway?”

“Oh, this, that, and the other.” Newt picked up the paper. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

Toothacker gave Newt a sour look, then left, leaving the door wide open.

Newt shook his head. If a certain someone knew how the staff treated him, heads would roll. Which was why, he thought as he perused the request from Cholmondeley on the seventeenth floor for assistance in removing a stubborn and incredibly rude jarvey from a potion’s cabinet, he’d never said anything about the way the staff treated him. He’d made a handful of promises to himself when he’d returned to America, two of which were that he would never think amorously or otherwise about that certain someone within MACUSA’s walls and that he wouldn’t jeopardize that someone’s career by causing problems. Neither had been easy, the latter because he was who he was and trouble just seemed to find him, the former because Percy was so very—

Realizing he was about to break promise number one for the umpteenth time, Newt cleared his throat. The sudden noise scared the paper rat and it refolded with a squeak and scampered away.

He sighed and left the room.

***

When Newt slipped into the conference room, he found the dead witch floating a foot above the long table. Picquery’s team was gathered around, wearing like expressions of dismay. As Newt took his place beside Tina, everyone turned to look at him. Everyone except Percy, of course, which was to be expected.

“Our spotters caught another one, Scamander,” Picquery said. “What do you make of her?”

Newt pretended to examine the body, really examining Percy. “Hmm, mid-fifties, so presumably experienced and quite possibly deadly.” Percy was still wearing his traveling overcoat and his mien was particularly grim. “Her fingernails are chewed down to the nub which I surmise means she’s of a nervous personality.” Either Percy hadn’t bothered changing out of his traveling clothes because of time or simple lack of desire and he was unhappy. Conclusion? The five-day colloquium with the ICW delegates hadn’t gone well. “Her features are that of someone from a colder clime—maybe Scandinavia or Iceland?”

“Finland,” Picquery answered. “Her name, according to her wand registration of two days past is Eleonoora Palander. We can only assume it’s a _nom de guerre_ as no one in their right mind would register their wand with their real name and then attack us.”

“Maybe she’s not in her right mind,” Newt mused, leaning over to examine the woman, this time with true intent. “Who could possibly be sane and wear clothing that might kill the wearer as easily as the intended victim?” At least, that was what the last seven had done—Auror Easton Beverly had discovered that little trick. During the second attack, Beverly had grabbed his assailant’s sleeve. By the end of the day, he was dead. “I take it her clothes are laced with the same poison?”

Picquery nodded. “They are. There was also a portkey in the form of a garnet sewn into the bodice of her dress. We’re not sure, but we think it was to be used as an escape route in case of capture.”

“Or as a way to get rid of us, one by one,” Ainsworth said near the end of the table. Ainsworth, per usual, was standing next to Percy. Also per usual, she’d changed her work clothes and was wearing a becoming if inappropriately frivolous dress. Newt had noticed the pattern; he wondered if Percy had, too.

“Was there anything else on her person?” Newt asked, suddenly feeling crabby and out of sorts.

Picquery waved her wand and the dead witch turned in a lazy circle, disturbing the dust motes that wafted about her body. “She had some jewelry in her skirt pocket but that was all.”

Just like the other witches and Newt frowned, puzzling it out. Everything about their attackers said they meant business. So why did the women always dress in overly ornate clothing and carry jewelry? He’d thought at first it was a way of obtaining cash, but some of it hadn’t been very good quality, just cheap paste stones with tin settings that wouldn’t fool anyone. “And the other?” he said absently. “What about him? He got away, yes?”

All eyes turned to him and he looked up, remembering he wasn’t supposed to know about the wizard. “I mean,” he added quickly, ignoring Tina’s sigh and Percy’s blank, distant gaze, “they always travel in twos so I assumed there is another. And that he got away.”

Tina’s shoulders dropped. “There was another,” she said. “And he did get away.” She glanced at Picquery. “I’m sorry, Madam President. I’ll do better next time.”

Percy finally spoke, “It’s not your fault, Goldstein.” He tugged his vest. “You followed the plan. We got one this time, unlike the two incidences before.”

Percy didn’t look over at Wildes and Corey but they glared at each other. Being where they were, the two men had the good sense not to start up with their usual blame casting and excuses but Newt knew that as soon as they were alone, they’d be going at it, hammer and tongs.

“At least we figured out how they’re getting in and out so fast,” Percy added. “That’s something.”

“Unauthorized portkeys, murder, kidnapping, and now sneaking through our water systems like rats,” Picquery murmured. “How long before the entire army is at our door?”

“To that end, Madam President,” Tina said, suddenly engrossed in the back of her chair. “Have you given thought to my idea?”

Picquery glanced at Percy before saying, “I have. Director Graves and I have concluded it’s too dangerous. Moving Grindelwald out of this facility as a ruse will expose us to unnecessary danger. Besides which, the ICW is adamant he stay here.”

Tina gripped the chair. “I realize that, ma’am, but if you’ll just lis—”

“Goldstein,” was all Percy said; it was enough. Tina’s shoulders slumped once more and she nodded shortly. “Yes, sir.”

“It’s not a bad idea, it’s just not feasible at this time. We don’t have the personnel.” Percy glanced around the table. “That said, we need more ideas, good or bad, because we’re losing this one. I want all of you to rest this weekend and show up Monday morning at nine, sharp.” He nodded to the dead witch. “This can’t happen again. Is that understood?”

The team nodded and replied with a chorus of, _“Yes, sir’s”_ and began shuffling out.

Picquery waved her wand and the witch’s simulacrum vanished. “Graves, Goldstein, Scamander—a word?”

Knowing what was to come, Newt followed Picquery, Percy, and Tina into the office attached to the conference room. In his anxiousness, he accidently stepped on Tina’s heel and they did an awkward dance of _pardon’s_ and, _it was my fault’s_ while Picquery sat down and Percy took position by the side of the desk.

“Sorry,” Newt said for the third time, smiling at Picquery and then at Tina but absolutely not at Percy. “Do go on, Madam President.”

Picquery clasped her hands together and asked, “How is our other project coming?”

“Not, unfortunately,” Newt said. “We’ve hit a bit of a snag in that the building where the obscurus was last seen is still closed for repairs.”

“You said that wouldn’t be a problem,” Picquery reminded Newt. “You said your bowtruckle could unlock any key at any time.” She smiled pleasantly. “Or was I mistaken?”

Newt shook his head twice and then once more for good measure. “No, ma’am, you are not mistaken, it’s just that I—”

“It’s my fault,” Tina said, stepping sideways, her arm pressing against Newt’s. “On my initial investigation, I didn’t realize the infrastructure had completely collapsed. We were able to pry the door open, but we couldn’t get beyond the foyer.”

“I see,” Picquery said, some of the irritation leaving her voice.

“Why don’t you try the sewers?” Percy murmured, glancing at Newt and Tina and then down at his fingernails. “If the roof is unstable and the front door impossible, why not try the substructure?”

“That’s a splendid idea,” Newt said, allowing himself just a quick peek. This close, he could see that Percy was wearing his new cream-colored vest. It had a fine pattern embroidered on it, a same-color swirling path of leaves and vines and tiny flowers. If a person wanted to, they could trace the vines, following the delicate raised stitches around and around and then up to—

Tina twitched, her elbow digging into Newt’s arm.

“Oh, yes” he fumbled, ridding his mind of importune fantasy. “Yes, as I was saying, that is to say…” He blinked and smiled. “We’ll give it a go tomorrow. Er, no, that’s not right. Monday, was it?”

“Be careful,” Percy warned. “It’s doubtful the obscurus is even there anymore.”

“Maybe you can send in one of your creatures,” Tina said, turning to Newt. “I mean, there’s Dougal and the flying snake thing, the one that lives in the tree near the swamp.”

Newt glanced down at the floor, not having to look to know that Percy’s gaze had turned blank again. “Neither will do, I’m sorry to say, but let me think on it. I might have another that would be more appropriate.”

“Good,” Picquery said as she reached into her desk and got out a piece of parchment, “because Graves was right—we’re not winning this little war and we can’t have an unstable obscurus out there gumming up the works.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Newt and Tina said together.

Picquery nodded. “You can go.” She turned to Percy and pushed the document his way. “Graves? We still need to review the new hires.”

Percy nodded sedately and without a single glance Newt’s way, he waved a chair closer to the desk. “Yes, ma’am.”

Dismissed and back to being out of sorts, Newt followed Tina out of the room. He was almost to the door when a curl of air pressed into his palm, like the weight of a hand that wasn’t there. He bent his lips in a soft smile, taking great care to hide his happiness from Tina.

***

Newt and Percy had a system, designed out of need, expediency, and a forty-three day habit that said that Newt would arrive at the flat before Percy. It was how things were and he never minded because it rarely happened. When he got home, heart always in his throat because forty-three days or no, this was _Percy_ , somehow Percy would be waiting on the sofa or at the window. Only not lately. Lately, thanks to Grindelwald’s fanatics, Percy had taken to staying long hours at the office when he was at the office at all. Newt hadn’t argued because what could he say? Percy had told him, after all, that work would come first. It was just, Newt grumbled silently as he went to the wardrobe to change into his field clothes, he thought it would be different.

After all the years of waiting and dreaming, his miracle had happened and he’d thought it would be different.

That first time when Percy had left for New York, Newt had stayed behind to care for his pregnant graphorn. He’d had no real agenda other than to leave as soon as the baby was delivered. He’d spent the next week fapping about and soothing the graphorn while she struggled with the early birth. It was during one of those sessions, sitting on a rock and murmuring soothingly to her when a stray memory that wasn’t truly random as his stray thoughts tended to center on Percy, made him get up and apparate over to the house.

His parents were still in London and Thee was out and about, as well. The house had been so quiet, almost tomb-like and he’d walked on tiptoe as he’d made his way to the library. His goal was a book, old and worn and stored, he thought, on the shelf near the stuffed roe head. It wasn’t and he’d had to search for it, finally finding it in the section his mother had labeled, ‘ _Fantasy, Muggles._ ’

He’d taken the tome down and used a modified _revelio_ spell to find the exact phrase. Bent over the book, his heart in his throat, he’d read: _‘Stay ye me with raisins, refresh me with apples; For I am sick from love.’_

 _‘Sick from love.’_ He’d flushed and read the words out loud, in a wonderful daze because even though the words were make believe, they were beautiful, holding their own kind of power.

His love was returned; no more pining, no more feeling lost and a little sick every time he thought of Percy so far away in America. Or sometimes worse, when Percy would visit and he and Thee would hole up in Thee’s room, leaving Newt out in the cold. That had been after, of course. After he’d realized what it had meant, the weird stomach aches and chest aches.

Smarting from the effects of the most difficult one yet, coming in from overhearing Percy tell Thee that he was returning to America in the morning, Newt had been confused and actually very worried. He’d gone to his mother and told her that he thought he was having a Muggle-type heart attack and perhaps they should visit the nearest mediwitch?

His mother had given him the strangest look, then said she was fairly positive it wasn’t a Muggle-type heart attack, but for a treat they’d go into Hogsmeade to buy that book on the circulatory system of dragons that Newt had been wanting. They went and bought the book and gotten an egg cream to boot, and it had been better. Only, it got bad again when he arrived home and gone upstairs to show Percy the book only to find that he’d left unexpectedly because Mrs. Graves had owled to say that she needed him at home.

Newt so clearly remembered clutching the book to his chest, feeling hollow and kind of tinny, hearing Thee’s echoing, _‘I don’t know why you’re so put out about it—it’s my summer he’s ruined.’_ Later on in bed, he’d heard his mother and Theseus arguing. Thee had come up shortly after and read to him from the new book. He’d been funny and nice and Newt had fallen asleep, almost happy.

Caught on the memory, Newt stood there for a moment, half undressed. Had his mother known clear back then? Had Thee?

He never much cared what other people thought of him, but it somehow bothered him that Theseus knew before he did. That first night, the night of the dinner party, the ease between Percy and Thee was so very obvious and he’d felt it again, the hard-boned rawness of a decade’s old jealousy. But this was different and—

He shook his head and then shrugged off his unease. He was as bad as his tristisowl, brooding over something that might not have happened and even if it had, he couldn’t change it. Besides, he had hungry mouths to feed and his own work to catch up on.

He finished dressing and then went to the suitcase.

***

Newt made his rounds, checking in on his charges. The graphorn calf was doing well—when he scractched her under her chin and chirped at her, she chirped back and butted his knee.

The other animals were doing well, though Pickett had been fighting again. As Newt passed his tree, Pickett leapt onto his shoulder.

“Only for a bit,” Newt said. “And, no, you’re not going with me—it’s much too dangerous out there for you right now.”

Pickett spit his displeasure, but got into Newt’s shirt pocket anyway.

Newt grinned and patted Pickett gently.

He finished early. Instead of going back to the flat to work on the obscurus question as he should, he waded through his dazed mooncalves and climbed the highest hill. He lay down with a sigh and then tucked an arm behind his head and gazed up at the full moon.

He’d done a rather good job with this bit, he mused as he ran his fingers over the grass. Certain organics were harder to create than others and for some reason, this grass had been the most difficult. At first it had come out all stiff and recalcitrant, refusing to grow even when he’d ordered and then pleaded. After three days of coaxing, the grass had given in and scurried over hill and dale, into every nook and cranny. Maybe as an apology for being so stubborn, it had also changed its texture and became lush and springy soft. It was like lying on a bed of clouds and he was fairly certain he could sleep out here though he really wasn’t tired. He was just in a mood and he wished so much tha—

“There you are.”

Newt drew a deep breath and turned his head: wish requested, wish granted. Percy was standing under the lime tree, one hand on its trunk. Pressed against his leg was Dougal.

Percy still hadn’t changed his clothes. Newt hoped it was because he’d gotten home and found it empty and went in search, not because he had to go back to the office. But it was nothing he wanted to ask as it would break the spell; wordlessly, he held out his hand.

Percy said something to Dougal. Dougal scampered down the hill and Percy pushed away from the tree. He joined Newt on the soft, soft grass, lying on his side. He bent over Newt and when they kissed, Percy’s mouth was even softer.

So, just five days, not fifty or five hundred or anything like, but Newt felt as if it had been, as if his hands had forgotten the shape and breadth Percy’s chest and shoulders. Felt as if his mouth had been empty all this while, and he made a sound deep in his throat and pushed, rolling Percy onto his back. So much better with Percy below, his own personal terra firma that hid secret charms and disguised truths with he, Newt, the forever hunter.

“Newt?”

Unable to speak, Newt undid Percy’s Ironbelly-shaped collar pin so he could get at his throat.

Percy moaned softly and tipped his head back, arching into Newt’s mouth. “Newt.”

“Hmm?” Newt said, his mouth on Percy’s pulse point, using just a bit of his teeth because Percy loved that so very much.

With an indrawn breath, Percy wrapped his arms around Newt and whispered, “I missed you.”

Newt stilled and looked up. Percy’s dark eyes reflected the white moon and scattered clouds, seemingly as lost as Newt sometimes felt. It was a first, the admission, and Newt was shaking when he said, “Me too. I mean, I missed you, as well. So much I thought I might go—”

Percy covered Newt’s mouth with his hand. “No,” he said, “Not that.” And then in a completely different tone, his voice low and needy, he whispered, _“Newt.”_

Newt nodded in agreement. “Yes.” He suddenly wanted Percy all to himself, no one or no thing watching. No curious moon nor avid grass nor the creatures he loved but not as much as Percy… “Yes, but not here.”

“Then…” Percy reached inside Newt’s pocket for his wand and held it up.

He took the wand and in a moment, they were on their bed in the suitcase flat, landing hard. Percy laughed, an unexpected, joyous sound that cut right to some vital part of Newt’s soul and he thought that yes, he had missed Percy, but with the entirety of him, body _and_ mind. It had hurt, the missing, because it was a done deal, like the mating instinct that swans and dragons lived and died by. He was mated to Percy and there was nothing anyone—

Percy cupped Newt’s jaw and whispered, “Come back to me.”

He sighed and said, complaining because it would make Percy smile, “Yes, but how can I get _at_ you when you insist on such intricate clothing? All these laces and buttons and—”

Percy stopped Newt’s mouth with a kiss and then said against his lips, “Then why don’t you do something about it? All my laces and buttons an—”

Newt raised his wand and with an impatient wave, he made Percy’s clothing unlace, unbutton and undo. “That’s more like it,” he muttered as soon as Percy was down to his underclothes.

“I agree.”

Wand still raised, Newt examined Percy, noting that he’d lost weight again and his skin was too pale. “I see you ate nothing while you were away,” he grumbled. “Do they not feed you at these things?”

“You’re one to talk,” Percy answered, stroking Newt’s lower back with his fingertips, down and down to rest just under the waistband of his trousers. “I can feel your ribs. Did you not eat while I was gone?”

At Percy’s touch, Newt had dropped the wand and closed his eyes, his world narrowed to the point where Percy’s flesh met his. “I was far too busy,” he said, taking Percy’s hand, pushing, suggesting silently, _‘Don’t stop now,’_ catching his breath when Percy complied and stroked the curve of his hip. “The obscurus, my creatures, Grin—”

“Newt,” Percy cautioned.

“Sorry,” he breathed, “Not here, not now. I know…” He apologized again only this time silently, nosing his way down Percy’s throat to his chest.

Percy’s breath hitched and he whispered, “You’re forgiven.”

Newt snorted softly and shoved Percy’s undershirt up, distracted because he and Percy fit so well together. For example, the curve of Percy’s belly was a perfect match for his hand, fingers splayed out, spanning the width from navel to— “Has anyone told you that you have the most beautiful external oblique muscles ever?” He rubbed his cheek and chin against the area in question. “The way they wrap around your waist and run over your iliac crest makes me want to sing. Has anyone told you that?” He looked up.

“No,” Percy said softly, combing his fingers through Newt’s hair. “I can’t say as they have.”

“Well, they better not,” Newt decided. “Your iliac crests are mine and no one else’s.”

“I’ll remember that.”

He nudged Percy’s shorts with his chin. “Please do.” He nudged again.

“Oh,” was Percy’s only reply.

“Do you like that?” Newt whispered, adding, his voice low and probably unsure, “I’ve never— That is to say, do you want this?”

Percy pressed his lips together. “I think…” he started to say, ending with an odd shrug.

Like stepping from a warm bath into a freezing river, Newt’s ardor chilled and then faltered.

“I’m sorry,” Percy said. “I just would have thou—”

“It’s all right,” Newt said, forcing a smile. He moved back up until he was lying by Percy’s side. He slipped his leg over Percy’s. “This is fine, too.”

Percy smiled. “Good.”

***

When Newt had traveled to America for the second time, his head full of expectations and dazed happiness, he’d made plans. When he’d arrived at the flat Percy had found for him, he’d put those plans in motion. He’d expanded the suitcase flat, eschewing the previous design in favor of a proper home with two floors instead of one. Wanting Percy to be as comfortable down below as much as above, he’d set the house’s time to follow the local sun so even though it was night in the mooncalf sanctuary and broad day in obscurus enclosure, here it was whatever it was in the real world. Now, the sun was almost down and the room was painted in varying shades of blue with just a pale band of gold that fell across the bed.

After Percy’s release and then his own—set off by the simple touch of Percy’s hand—he’d gotten them undressed and under the covers so he could wrap around Percy from behind, his favorite position. “Was it really that bad?” he murmured, feeling an unusual need to make conversation. His body was lax and heavy as if he’d just hiked miles across a yielding desert. Normally, he enjoyed the boneless, post-lovemaking feeling, but now… “They listened to you, yes?”

“Yes and no,” Percy replied. “They were actually quite reasonable once I got your brother to stop talking.”

“I told you he’d be a problem.”

“I couldn’t very well ask him to leave, Newt. He’s a member of the special council.”

“I know. It’s just…” Newt rubbed Percy’s chest and then kissed his shoulder. “What did they say?”

“That they were going to deny Picquery’s request for direct assistance but would help indirectly.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that when Grindelwald escapes, they can point their fingers at MACUSA.” Percy turned, pushing Newt back. “It means that their potion masters were unable to duplicate Grindelwald’s spells or create anything that will weaken his powers. It means they are leaving it up to us.”

The failing light had leached the brown from Percy’s beautiful eyes leaving a glint of silver and black. “It’s a good thing we weren’t relying on them, now, isn’t it?” Newt said as he traced the line of Percy’s nose up to the arch of his brow.

“I know that tone,” Percy said with a small smile. “What did you find out?”

“About the obscurus, not a lot, though I do think temperature will play a key part in its capture. If it even does exist, mind you. But…” He made himself more comfortable, edging under Percy’s arm. “I think I’ve solved our alarm problem where Grindelwald is concerned.”

“And that is? And remember that it can’t be based on any kind of magic because he’ll sense it.”

As if calming an upset dragon, Newt used a light touch on Percy, stroking his chest and shoulder. “I know, I know. That’s why I’ve been looking into the use of floobeetles.”

Percy raised an eyebrow. “Floobeetles? Aren’t those the things that live in chimneys?”

“Yes, they’re a fairly common household pest, almost impossible to get rid of because one of their defining characteristics is they can turn invisible when their bellies are full. And—before you ask—since they eat almost anything, their bellies are almost always full.”

“This is supposed to help us how?”

Newt smiled. He loved it when Percy got snooty—it was so adorable. “Their other defining characteristic is that they glow a bright red when they sense even the tiniest bit of magic. They have a natural internal communication system. If one floobeetle senses the magic, they all do and they light up, one after the other, like they’re on fire. Even if Grindelwald was to enchant a single pebble, the floobeatles would know.”

Percy was silent a moment, then he said, “I can think of several problems with your solution.”

Newt stopped his petting. “And those are?”

“One,” Percy said, “it seems to me to be a one-time solution. The minute Grindelwald sees the beetles glowing, he’ll know the jig is up and simply stop what he was doing.” Percy furrowed his brow. “Two, for the system to work, it requires someone to be on the premises—and awake—at the same time. How is that different from the wards and guards we’re already using? And three,” Percy added before Newt could throw out an objection to the objections, “you insisted we needed to get in front of the problem. This only works if Grindelwald acts so I’m not sure it’s any different from what we were doing.”

It wasn’t different, not at all. Newt sat up and wrapped his arms around his blanket-covered knees.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

Percy sat up as well, and slid an arm around Newt’s waist. “I’m sorry.”

Newt turned his head and laid his cheek on his knee. “You already said that.”

“Then I’m sorry for repeating myself.”

Percy had that expression, the, _I’m smiling but you can’t see it_ one and Newt sighed. He was pouting like a child, all because his idea wouldn’t work. “You’re right,” he said. “I hadn’t thought it through.”

“Maybe it’s because you’ve been putting in a lot of hours at the office and haven’t been getting much sleep.”

It was his turn to slant Percy a rueful look. “Did Tina tell you?”

Percy nodded calmly. “She did.”

Thee had always said Percy was like a still pond, that it was impossible to see beneath his surface and that was never more true than now. “Are you mad, because I don’t mind. I like being there, even when you’re not.”

“I’m not mad and I wouldn’t mind if I didn’t know that ‘there’ isn’t really _there.”_

Newt sighed, this time more heavily. “Tina told you.”

“She did. You don’t need me to remind you that it’s dangerous going against MACUSA’s orders, yes?”

Percy hadn’t added, _‘and my request,’_ but he might as well have. “I know, but I can not.” Newt shrugged. “If I’m to accomplish what they asked of me, I need to be there, _during_ the assaults, not after when all is said and done.”

“Why not?”

Newt shook his head. “I don’t know, it just seems important.” He took Percy’s hand. “You were there for the first two, yes? Didn’t you feel something? In the way they attacked? As far as we know, none of them have been to the States much less New York City. Yet they all seem to have an intimate knowledge of the city and its surroundings.” He laced his fingers with Percy’s. “Today is a perfect example. Unless Eleonoora Palander was on the Muggle construction crew, she couldn’t have known about that water plant. She couldn’t have known that the Muggles had built those tunnels and then never used them.”

“You’re right,” Percy answered thoughtfully, “we didn’t know about them, so how did she?”

He stroked the back of Percy’s hand. “They’re communicating somehow with Grindelwald or…” He hesitated, not wanting to speak of his suspicion, first arrived at when he’d, well, first arrived.

“No.” Percy tried to pull free but Newt didn’t let him go.

“You have to at least consider it. You _must.”_

Percy’s jaw worked and then he nodded shortly. “All right. Yes, it’s possible that Grindelwald turned one of us. But, Newt…” He looked down and then shrugged.

“He had time. And you yourself said he’s very persuasive.”

“‘Seductive.’ I believe the word I used was ‘seductive.’”

Newt had watched only three of the interrogations, unable to return after. As much as he’d hated seeing Percy within wand-range of Grindelwald, he’d hated even more the way Grindelwald spoke to Percy. Whispering gently, intimately, as if they were lovers, not relative strangers surrounded by over twenty wizards and witches, Grindelwald had teased Percy, reminding him of the time they spent together. That sometimes he’d been so distracted, thinking of Percy waiting for him in that bed, that he could barely get through the day. And when the workday was over, he’d rush back to the house, his only thoughts of Percy and all the things he planned on—

“Newt?”

“What?”

“You’re hurting me.”

Newt looked up. And then down. His grip on Percy’s hand had tightened; his own knuckles were white and strained. “Oh.” He let go immediately. “I’m sorry. I’m so—”

Percy leaned close and kissed him, pressing away his apologies. “Don’t,” Percy whispered against Newt’s lips. “As much as I despise him, I love it that you care so much and I—”

Percy trailed off and Newt told himself that it was all right. It was all right that Percy was never able say the words—his actions said and meant everything. Desire renewed and bloomed, turning Newt’s stomach to warm jelly. He’d planned on dinner by eight but it could wait; food could wait. “Percy?”

“Yes,” Percy said, reaching out.

They made love again, pressed against each other, and for once, mind divorced from autonomic responses, Newt found himself a bystander in his own body, still stuck on the Grindelwald question and the thing Percy couldn’t yet say.

***

They ate dinner very late that night. Immediately after, Newt left to check his animals. When he returned, Percy was already asleep.

***

Newt woke to find a note on the pillow next to him. In Percy’s beautiful script, he read: _I have an eight a.m. meeting with Seraphina. I should be home by seven at the latest. Please don’t investigate anything by yourself. P._

Crumbling the note, Newt threw it across the room. He instantly felt bad at the show of temper and got his wand and called the note back. With a swift spell, he smoothed it out and set it on the nightstand.

***

Newt spent the day in the suitcase with his obscurus, running tests. None of them, unfortunately, were conclusive and by late afternoon he decided to call it a day. He went upstairs and pretended to not be waiting for anyone in particular. At six thirty-six, he received an owl from Percy saying he’d be home by ten at the earliest and to not wait dinner.

Newt sent the owl on her way, then, not caring about temper at all, balled the note up so hard it squeaked, just a little.

***

_For all its ferocity, the Romanian Longhorn has several weaknesses, one of which is a bald spot under their left forearm armor. If you happen to run across one, you would be wise to—_

A soft buzz broke Newt’s concentration but he ignored it, continuing with: … _apparate away. If that’s not possi—_

The buzzer rang again and he set his pen down. “Bother,” he muttered. Except for the annoying sort, he and Percy never got visitors; he got a cloth to wipe his fingers and then climbed up to the flat.

The doorbell chimed once more, this time in an uneven tone as if the person on the other side was mad or frustrated.

A bland and irritated, _‘Thank you but I’m not interested,’_ at the ready, Newt opened the door. “Thank you but I’m not interested in any type of…” He trailed off as his brain connected with his eyes. “Tina?” he said with a smile. “How are you?” adding an immediate, “are you all right? Is it work?” because they really never did get visitors.

Tina sighed. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

Newt frowned. “Of course I didn’t— Forgot? What are you—” He glanced down. Tina was wearing a dark red dress under her black wool coat. “Oh, right. The Bl—”

“Black Cat at eight,” Tina interrupted. “You forgot.”

“No, I didn’t,” Newt lied and then smiled because it was so foolish. “Yes. I forgot. I’m sorry, I was just editing my new book.” He gestured to the table where there were no paper or pens or book. “I mean,” he explained, lowering his voice and peering into the hall to make sure they were alone. “Down there. Down there, I was editing my book.”

Tina put her hands on her hips. “Are you standing me up?”

He hesitated once more, looking over his shoulder at the empty flat. He really shouldn’t do this. The chances that he could avoid Queenie were slim and if she were to read his thoughts, the jig, as they said, would be up. And then there was Percy. It was ten after eight and he was going to be home in an hour or so and—

“Because it’s going to be really crowded and I want to get a good seat.”

And, nothing, he supposed because he couldn’t disappoint her. “Yes. Yes, I’m sorry, I’ll just—” He backed up a step. “Let me just…” He smiled and pointed to the bedroom. “Wait here.”

***

It took him a moment to change into a proper ensemble, bought by Percy with Muggle money weeks ago because he said he was tired of seeing Newt in decade’s old tweed. It was a dark grey pinstripe with a crisp white shirt and a pale blue tie. Newt ruined the line of the jacket when he pocketed the black velvet pouch that held the salamander-shaped portkey that was his direct link to the suitcase house. Not coincidentally, it was his direct link to Percy and he patted it with satisfaction. When he returned to the living room, Tina was in the kitchen. She turned and then whistled.

“When did you get that?”

Newt touched the hidden portkey. “In the last week or so. Just in case of such an event.”

“Hmm,” Tina said, still giving Newt the once-over. She reached up. “Here—let me. It’s crooked.” Squinting in concentration, she adjusted Newt’s tie.

“Thanks,” Newt said, chin up as he grinned nervously. Tina’s fingers were cold and he told himself that to back up would be an insult.

“The shoes are unfortunate but the rest is perfect.”

“I didn’t have time to shop for footwear.”

Tina smiled softly, then patted his tie. “It’s okay. I won’t pretend not to know you. That tie matches your eyes.”

Newt smiled. Tina’s smile was too fond so, rudeness be-damned, he stepped back out of reach. “Shall we be off?”

Tina nodded. “After you. I like the dragon wing cufflinks, by the way,” she added. “Director Graves has some just like them.”

Newt’s mouth dropped open. When he locked the door, his face was hot.

***

The Black Cat was hopping. The music was brassy and the crowd was equally loud; Newt’s immediate reaction was to cover his ears. Tina smiled and just took his arm, dragging him off to the right.

Though several steps up from Knarlack’s place, the club was still a bit rough. Up on the stage, the musicians—a trio of long-bearded gnomes—were swaying to the beat of their instruments. Off to the left, a group of men Newt pegged as werewolves were hiding in the shadows, their eyes glowing every now and then. A bald man in suspenders was entertaining a young woman at a table a little further on—Newt was fairly certain he’d seen the man on a MACUSA watch list.

“They’re over there,” Tina said, curling her arm through Newt’s.

“Yes,” Newt said, “but that man there—I believe he was involved in—”

“It’s Dexter Malporte,” Tina said. “Racketeering, gambling, unlicensed wand distribution—we’ve had him up on so many charges he has his own filing cabinet. He always slips through our fingers.”

Newt stopped in his tracks. “Always? But doesn’t that mean—”

“Newt,” Tina entreated. “He’s been booked eleven times on gambling alone. Nothing ever sticks. We’re here to have fun, not work, okay?”

Newt nodded reluctantly. “Very well.” He glanced at Malporte. “No work, just fun.”

Tina smiled. “Good. Over here—they’re waiting.”

Luckily for Newt, the band was too loud for casual conversation. He smiled at Qeenie and Jacob and then—knowing how silly it was—chose a seat furthest from Queenie. He watched the musicians and dancers as he drank a rather weak gin and tonic and pretended an interest he didn’t feel. Queenie was her usual vivacious self, but every now and then she’d look over and Newt and she’d grow quiet and thoughtful. Short of getting up and leaving, there was nothing he could do about it, so he tried to relax and tried to enjoy himself.

The band stopped for a break a little after ten and the house musicians took the stage. This music was soft and melodic—Queenie and Jacob got up immediately and went out on the dance floor. Newt gazed absently at them, wondering when would be a good time to make a graceful exit. He was working on the excuses, something involving Grindelwald and work, when Tina touched his arm.

“Feel like joining them?” she asked, nodding towards the dancers.

“I— Er, that is to say I’m not very—”

Tina stood up and held out her hand. “C’mon. It’ll be fun.”

Once again, Tina was watching him with anxious eyes and once again, he couldn’t say no. With a reluctance he hoped was invisible, he took her hand.

He wasn’t quite a dancing neophyte. Thee had shown him how and then there were endless school functions, though he’d done little more than watch from the sidelines. Except for that one time with Leta, of course. He’d learned a lot that night, mainly how to avoid stepping on one’s partner’s toes.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” Tina asked.

“It is.” What would be like to dance with Percy? Newt had done some very circumspect research and had found two Muggle establishments of the speakeasy variety where men could be together without calling too much attention to themselves. It wasn’t ideal, but it would be better than nothing. “It is,” he repeated, this time meaning it.

“And a little more exercise never hurts anyone, right?”

Newt smiled off to the side, dispelling the fantasy of Percy’s body flush tight with his own. “If you call this exercise.”

Tina raised an eyebrow. “And what would you call exercise?”

“Tramping across the Pampas in search of the South American Acromantula. Climbing the mountains in northern India for the Blue-Tipped Thestral. The Thestral I never found, by the by.”

Tina was smiling by the time he’d finished. “You’ve been to so many places. What was your favorite?”

The dance floor had grown crowded and Newt bumped into a man with a face that had seen far too many wand fights. “You mean in general terms or specific?”

“You know what I mean.”

Unable to say _the house in Yorkshire,_ because then he’d have to explain, he lied at random, “Finland.”

“Finland? You mean like where Eleonoora Palander is from? That’s odd.”

He grinned, cursing his magpie brain. He’d never been to Finland, though he wouldn’t mind visiting. Maybe he and Percy could go together. “It is, isn’t it?”

“Newt?” Tina asked.

“Hm?”

“I know I said no work, but did you read the article in the paper today? I mean in the no-maj Times?”

He shook his head. “I was a little busy. What did it say?”

Tina glanced around, then whispered, “There’s been an increase in anti-witch activity. Langdon Shaw has convinced the no-maj mayor to look into his brother’s death. They’re convening a sub-committee, whatever that is.”

“I imagine it’s something like the one we’ve created to deal with MACUSA’s unwanted guest.”

“I know _that,_ ” Tina said. “But is it a political committee, a law enforcement committee?” She leaned closer. “If their FBI gets involved that, could mean a real problem for us.”

“I don’t see how,” Newt answered. “They have no way of knowing about the…” It was Newt’s turn to glance around and lower his voice. “…obscurus. All they know is that a dark cloud killed Langdon Shaw. Without Mrs. Barebone to stoke that particular fire, I imagine the furor will die down.”

Tina squeezed his hands. “That’s easy for you to say—we went through the witch hunts. We know they could happen again.”

Newt drew a breath to answer that it was ages ago but just then, the crowd shifted and parted and he found himself facing two men. Maybe it was his general ill temper, but it took him a minute to realize he was looking at Percy and Theseus. They were standing at the edge of the dance floor, staring straight at him.

“Isn’t that Director Graves and your brother?” Tina asked.

Percy expression was perfectly calm but Thee was frowning, almost glaring. “It is.”

“I thought he went back to England. Your brother, I mean.”

“He did.” Newt stopped dancing.

“He doesn’t look happy.”

“No, he doesn’t.” Theseus jerked his head towards the front door.   “Tina?”

“Don’t tell me—” Tina stepped out of Newt’s embrace. “You have to go.”

He led her off the dance floor, murmuring, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s probably about work.”

“I would think so.” Percy was reading the handbills stuck to the wall; Thee was still glaring at Newt.

“Should I come with you?”

“No.” Queenie and Jacob had stopped dancing and were threading their way through the crowd. “If the Director needs you, I imagine he’ll owl.”

“Newt…”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated as Queenie and Jacob joined them.

“Isn’t that your boss?” Jacob asked. “Is everything all right?”

“It is, and probably not,” Tina said glumly.

“I have to leave,” Newt said with as much apology as he could muster. Percy and Theseus had turned away and were walking towards the exit.

“But we were going out for a late supper,” Jacob protested. “At Delmonico’s.”

Newt smiled, mostly at Tina. “Some other night?”

“Sure,” Jacob said, giving Tina one more quick glance. “Some other night.”

“See you around, Newt,” Queenie said, speaking for the first time.

Newt met her gaze. Queenie gave him a sad smile only slightly tinged with bitterness. She knew. Whether through her gift or just the natural intuition women were supposed to have, she knew. But there was nothing he could do about it now and he nodded, then hurried after Percy and Theseus.

***

He caught up with them across the street.

“Having fun?” Thee asked.

“I thought you were in England,” Newt answered. Percy wasn’t quite looking at him.

“I was. I thought you at home working, not out carousing.”

“I was. I forgot abou—”

“Gentlemen?” Percy interrupted. “Can you save it for another time?” He turned to Newt but still didn’t quite meet his gaze. “There’s been another incident.”

Shock vied with remorse and won. “Already?” Newt breathed. “They’ve always been ten or so days apart. What happened?”

Percy glanced around. “Not here. Follow me.”

Walking quickly, Percy went to the alley beside a tailor’s shop. As soon as Newt and Thee had joined him, he got out his wand. “Ready?” he said.

Before Newt could think, Thee had taken Percy’s arm, leaving Newt with one option. He gripped Thee’s arm an…

With a sickening lurch and a jump, Percy wanded them out of the alley. When they landed, Newt let go and staggered, nauseous and dizzy.

“I’m sorry,” Percy said, tucking his wand away. He came over to Newt but didn’t touch him. “Are you all right?”

Bent over, his hands on his thighs, Newt nodded. He really wasn’t all right; apparating more than one person was tricky but he’d never been sick from it before.

“It’s the wards I set earlier,” Percy said, this time leaning to rest his hand lightly on Newt’s back. “Are you really okay?”

Percy’s touch, as always, centered him and Newt was able to say, “Yes,” and mean it. He straightened up, right into the curve of Percy’s arm. With a flash of his old smile, Percy retreated. “Percy, I —”

“It’s all right,” Percy said quietly. “We’ll talk about it when we get home.”

“Very well,” Newt said, somehow feeling worse though the dizziness had passed.

Percy glanced down at the suit and then Newt’s mouth. “It looks good on you.”

Like a seesaw, his mood shifted and lifted and he smiled into Percy’s eyes. “Thank you.”

“I’m fine, by the way!” Thee called out, a few steps away. “Thanks for asking.”

“If I remember correctly,” Percy said, giving Newt a last glance, “it would take more than a fifty-mile apparation to bother you. Isn’t that what you said when I got sick all over Professor Aashe after that trip to Hogsmeade?”

Thee laughed. “I forgot all about that.” He straightened up and then wrapped his scarf tighter about his neck. “Aashe was so furious he turned purple.”

“I think it was puce.”

“Puce _is_ purple, you dunderhead.”

“I thought it was green.”

Feeling that familiar, awful sense of being left out, Newt turned in a slow circle as he got his bearings. They were standing on a frost-covered bridge in the middle of a forest. A river lay below; it was still partially frozen, its banks thick with anchor ice.

Percy gestured towards the parapet. “It’s this way.”

Following, Newt went to the bridge wall and looked down.

Though the river was only about three meters down, Newt couldn’t see much at first, just sluggish water and ice covered by a recent snowfall. But no, that wasn’t all and he leaned forward. “What in the world?”

“Fairly gruesome, isn’t it?” Thee said, coming to stand on Newt’s other side.

Unlike the rest of the river, the section directly below was covered from bank to bank with a sheet of translucent blue ice. Under that ice, hands pressed against the surface as if attempting an escape were two men, both dead.

“Where are we?” Newt asked.

Percy answered, “In Tarrytown.” At Newt’s look of inquiry, he added, “Upstate New York.”

“Near the old access station? The one where the first—”

“Hm, mm,” Theseus said, interrupting Newt. “Why would they attack from the same place twice unle—”

It was Newt’s turn to interrupt. “Unless they know something we don’t.”

“Or as a way to distract us from their true goal,” Percy said. “We can’t be sure because we just don’t know.”

“What happened?” Newt said. “How did they die, I mean?”

Thee leaned his elbows on the bridge. “I had just arrived from London when Percy’s proximity alarms went off. We apparated to the access portal in time to find a man trying to break the wards. Percy stopped him, binding him with an _incarcerous_ spell. Only, before the spell could complete itself, another wizard appeared. I tried for him but he shot a bolt at me and then Percy. While we were down, he released his companion and they took off.”

Newt turned to Percy. “If I ask if you were hurt, would you tell me the truth?”

“I might.” Percy smiled briefly. “I might not.”

“Hmph,” Newt said, then, before Thee could complain about being ignored, asked, “Did they both have portkeys?”

Thee frowned. “We don’t know. As soon as we transfer the bodies, we’ll look.”

“If they do, that will add another wrinkle to the mystery,” Percy answered. “They had more than enough time to use them.”

Newt nodded because he supposed as much. “What happened then?”

“They apparated out and we gave chase. I took a chance and arrived on the bridge before them. When they landed, I attacked from behind and hit them with a broad spell. They fell into the river and I got them again.”

“And I finished the job by freezing the river,” Theseus added.

Newt stood there for a moment, picturing the onslaught, the running men, Percy and Theseus chasing after, grim and resolute. Then, the last attack, the men falling into the cold water and drowning, trapped under the ice. He shivered.

“It’s cold,” Percy murmured. “And we need to get you out of here before Seraphina sends someone to check up on us.”

“All right,” Newt mused, stepping back from the parapet.

“What is it?” Percy asked.

“I’m still stuck on the idea that they attacked the same place twice and so quickly after the other. It feels wrong, somehow. Like everything is speeding up only I don’t know why or what it means.” He looked at Percy. “Does that make sense?”

Percy nodded slowly. “Unfortunately, it does.”

***

Percy reset the wards and they all left soon after. After arriving a block from MACUSA, Percy and Thee continued on to report to Picquery while Newt went home.

Instead of heading directly for the flat in the suitcase, Newt went to his rarely used bedroom. He undressed, hanging the suit in the closet, then put on a pair of pajamas he’d bought months ago but had never worn. He went to the kitchen, and feeling a little aimless, filled the kettle and set it on the stove. He turned on the burner.

He was standing, watching drops of water condense along the kettle’s short neck when he heard a breath of air. The floorboards creaked and then sighed. “Are you thirsty?” he said without turning around. “I’m making tea.”

“I’m not thirsty,” Percy said. “And if I was, tea would be the last thing I’d want.”

Newt smiled and looked over his shoulder. Percy was standing in the doorway. “How did it go?”

“As expected.”

“Meaning, Picquery fumed and accused and ordered you to figure it out.”

Percy smiled. “That’s pretty much it.”

“Where’s Thee?”

“At a hotel. He wanted to come over but I told him no.”

Newt looked back down at the stove. It was an ancient thing and the knobs were always falling off. He jiggled the loosest one, turning it to the left. “I wasn’t at that club with Tina.” He frowned. “I mean, I was, but it wasn’t a _date_ or anything like.”

“I know.”

“She asked and I couldn’t say no.”

“I know.”

“I really wanted to be there with you.” He’d turned the knob to the right and used too much force—with a hiss and a pop, the burner turned on. He turned it back off. “I wish you and I could go out for dinner. Or to a club.”

“We can’t.”

“I know.” The kettle was murmuring, preparing to whistle. Newt turned that burner off, too. “I thought you’d be angry.” He turned around and leaned against the counter. “Why aren’t you?”

Percy shrugged. “I think I’m too tired.”

Newt frowned. He was fairly certain that Percy had just lied but couldn’t quite tell and he remembered Thee’s comment about the still pond. “Percy?”

“Yes?”

“I want to sleep up here tonight and not down there.” He loved the space he’d built for the two of them, but for some reason, just the thought of being down there and not up here made his stomach ache. “I have so many spells put in place against eavesdroppers and burglars that this flat might as well be glowing with magic.” He tried to smile but it didn’t come out right.

Percy was silent for a while and then he nodded. “Very well. But just for tonight, yes?”

Newt nodded. “Just for tonight.”

***

Newt waited in bed, watching appreciatively as Percy ported in his pajamas from the suitcase house and then slowly removed his suit. When he was changed, he got in beside Newt.

The bed was smaller than the one down below and Newt scrunched to the side, making room for Percy. “Can you get the light?”

With a wave of his hand, Percy turned off the lamp.

Busy with other things, Newt had only made minor decoration choices to his new flat. He’d hung curtains over the blinds, bought sheets and towels, and placed a framed picture of his parents and Thee on the dresser. Grateful that it was a regular, Muggle-type photo, he curled around Percy. “Are you going into the office tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Percy said, stroking Newt’s arm. “We’ll all be putting in overtime from now on, including you.”

“Overtime is only overtime if you’re actually getting paid,” Newt said. The whirlwind evening was blending together in a wash of images and he was suddenly very, very tired.

“I told you that you should have held out for a proper salary,” Percy said.

“I couldn’t. Not when I had a very underhanded reason for being there.”

Percy smiled and then lifted Newt’s hand and kissed his palm. “I can just imagine Seraphina’s reaction if you had told her.”

Almost asleep, Newt nevertheless winced. “I would have been on the first boat home,” he answered, not surprised when Percy just agreed with a low, “Probably.”

***

Newt woke in the early hours, drawn out of sleep by a warm mouth on his throat. “What is it?” he murmured.

“It’s just me,” Percy whispered.

Half awake, half asleep, Newt rolled to his back.

They made love slowly, just a loose press of body to body. It was nice but distant and strange and when it was done, Newt had the oddest feeling that he wasn’t himself and Percy wasn’t Percy.

***

The next few days were filled with meetings, investigations and research. Thee left early on Monday, saying that he’d return within a fortnight, if not sooner.

At noon that same day, Picquery called for a staff-wide meeting, held in the huge ballroom. She informed everyone that MACUSA’s non-essential projects would be put on hold and that overtime would be mandatory. Some grumbled but most did not. Sitting off to the side, Newt made note of the grumblers. Contrary to what Percy had said, it was quite possible that someone had infiltrated MACUSA’s ranks and so he gazed under his lashes, examining Wildes and Corey and the other complainers.

On Tuesday, Picquery held another meeting, this one of the senior staff that included Newt. She basically reiterated what she’d said on Monday, leaving Newt with the uncomfortable feeling that she was grasping at straws and using protocol as a way of stemming the tide of doubt and worry.

On Wednesday, Picquery interrupted a meeting between Newt, Percy, Tina and Lopez and asked them all to reconvene in her office. Not asked but assuming, Newt followed. Picquery didn’t look very happy when he trailed in after Tina, but neither did she ask him to leave. She just said, “Shut the door, Goldstein,” and then waved her wand. A heavy cloaking spell descended, covering the walls with a transparent film that glinted and glittered.

“Please gather around,” Picquery said as she brought a small flat box from one of the cupboards. She set the box on the desk and then opened it. Inside on a nest of black velvet were ten objects.

Newt leaned over, his hand already out. Percy cleared his throat and then, when Newt looked up, shook his head. “I wasn’t going to touch,” Newt said, turning his gaze back to the objects. “These are the portkeys?” A mix of metals and shaped stones, they were all objects one would wear on a suit or the bodice of a gown.

“They are,” Picquery said. “And before you ask, yes, we’ve tested them and tested them, but haven’t learned a thing. They’re common and have no maker’s stamp or mark. The only one of any true value is that one.” She pointed to a woman’s brooch, a large opal set among a circle of diamonds. “But even that one is unexceptional. I imagine one could buy it anywhere in the world, including New York.”

Examining them closely, Newt reluctantly agreed. A few of the items were beautiful but nothing out of the ordinary. “I’ve a suggestion,” he said, peering at a man’s stickpin. It was in the shape of a dragonfly and quite pretty.

“And that is?” Picquery asked.

Newt looked up. “Why don’t we just touch one and see what happens?”

One would think he’d suggested that he strip naked and run through Central Park in a roaring blizzard. “I mean,” he said, shooting a quick look at Percy. Percy was staring blandly down at the portkeys but his hands were balled into fists. “It would tell us everything we need to know, yes?”

There was a beat of silence and then everyone except Percy started talking, throwing questions and accusations at Newt as if they were wand blasts. “I will not risk the lives of one of my Aurors,” Picquery said, “simply because you want to indulge your curiosity.”

“Yes,” Newt answered, trying for calm, “I understand, though I’d hard—”

“It almost has to be a trap,” Lopez added. “What other possible function could they hold? It would be pointless.”

“I’m not saying it’s not a tra—”

“Are you crazy?” Tina jumped in. “I mean, it’s insane! The keys could lead to an ocean or a bottomless pit or an—

“I really doubt it’s any of those things and I understand it’s an extreme step but what else are we to—”

“And the life of the user?” Picquery interrupted. “What about them?”

“If I wasn’t clear, I’m quite ready to volunteer.”

There was another beat, this one longer as everyone shut up. And then Percy spoke, his voice cuttingly low, “You can’t be serious?” Everyone looked at him.

Newt straightened up, meeting Percy’s gaze head on. “I am. Deadly serious,” he said quietly. “I’m more than willing to take the risk. What’s life without a little danger.” He smiled, trying to get Percy to understand, but even that was a mistake.

Like a cloud covering the sun, Percy’s expression darkened. “And those left behind? Your brother, your mother? What would I say to them if you didn’t come back?”

Newt cocked his head. “They’d understand it was my choice.” Once again, he used the wrong words because Percy’s jaw clenched and a scroll resting on Picquery’s desk burst into flame.

With a muttered curse and a sharp wave of his hand, Percy put the flame out. He took “I’ve work to do, ma’am. If you need me I’ll be in my office.” He strode from the room, breaking the eavesdropping shield with another wave of his hand.

“Well,” Picquery said as the shield shattered in a shower of copper and silver and gold. “I must say I agree with Director Graves. It’s a very bad idea.”

“Mada—”

She held up her hand. “No more, please. Just…” She flicked her fingers. “Go back to your basement.”

Newt glanced at Tina and Lopez—Tina was studying the floor and Lopez was staring at him as if he’d turned into a toad. Without another word, Newt bobbed his head and left.

***

A little numb, Newt headed for the lifts. “Basement, please,” he asked Red and then, before Red could even touch the button, he said, “Wait! No, the forty-fourth floor.”

Red craned his head. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Newt said, smiling nervously because Red always made him nervous. “Quite. Forty-four, please.”

“Hmph,” Red grumbled and then jabbed the button with his wand.

Newt spent the very short ride assembling his arguments, the words he’d use to convince Percy that he wasn’t insane and that an investigation of this sort was really their only option. He was almost to Percy’s office, however, when a klaxon blared and a calm voice announced, _‘Wizard attack in Sector Seven. Repeat: Wizard attack in Sector Seven. All Section Chiefs report to Madame Picquery and Director Graves.’_

All thoughts of persuasion gone, Newt spun on his heel and sprinted for the lifts.

***

It turned out to be not another attack by wizards, but by three witches. They had managed to break through Percy’s wards along the unused New York City waterway without setting off any alarms. By the time MACUSA’s Aurors arrived on the scene, the witches were less than a mile from the city.

Ordered to stay in the rear, the battle between the witches and the MACUSA Aurors was a sight Newt would long remember.

Apparating in after Tina, Newt landed in an enormous, half-finished tunnel. Before him was a line of Aurors headed by Percy. On the opposite side stood the three witches. Dressed all in black, the women were like something from a Muggle illustration. There was a tense nothing and then, with a howl that echoed along the tunnel, the lead witch threw a bolt. The other two followed, advancing slowly, their eyes glowing purple in the dim light. The Aurors met the attack with a defensive wall of power and the battle was enjoined.

Watching from the rear and hobbled by Picquery’s orders, Newt could only flinch each time a bolt flew too close to Percy. After one missed Percy’s head by a bare hand span, Newt decided that obeying the rules had never been for him and he had the perfect weapon to use—he just needed to get close enough to deploy it. He was waiting for his chance when something made him look up.

The continuous wand blasts had lit up the tunnel as if it were broad daylight. Newt could see Percy, still at the head of the line. He could see the three witches advance inch by inch. And he could see a catwalk hanging from the tunnel roof and a dark shape crouched against the railing. Even as he realized what he was looking at, a fourth witch rose and began throwing spells, not at the Aurors below but up towards the tunnel’s superstructure.

“Lopez!” Newt called out, his shout bouncing jaggedly. “Above you!”

Lopez jerked and looked up. Without waiting for orders, Newt stabbed his wand upwards, sending a streak of fire that the witch easily ducked. He sent a bolt again, this time threading through the Aurors to get into position; he was too late. The witch cast one last spell and with a creak and a groan, the tile that lined the roof began to fall.

 _“Protego Maxima! Fianto Duri! Repello Inimicum!”_ Lopez bellowed, pointing his wand straight up. A stream of white fire tinged with celestial blue burst over the Aurors, covering them like an umbrella. The tiles hit the shield, some crumbling under its heat, most sliding off to the floor. “Director! I can’t hold this!” Lopez shouted, his voice shaking with the strain.

Looking over his shoulder, Percy shouted, “Newt, help him!”

Newt hesitated, quickly weighing his choices. He was close to the first witch—so close and he _had_ to take the chance. He turned and shouted, “Tina! Ainsworth! Lopez needs you!”

“Newt, no! They’re not—” Percy answered, his call lost as the fourth witch apparated down to her sisters and they all began their final attack.

Dashing through the smoke, Newt loosened and then cast the cocoon. With a trill, his Swooping Evil streamed forth and crashed through Lopez’s protection spell with ease. The witches ducked and scattered and the creature screamed in joy. It attacked one of the witches and then another before darting back to the first as if it couldn’t make up its mind. But it had done the trick and with a flash of red, the witches disapparated, one after the other.

Ears ringing, Newt held up his hand and called the creature to him with a sharp, “Come!” With a purring screech, the Swooping Evil whipped back around and then was in its nest once more. “Good boy,” he said, turning and looking for Percy.

With the witches gone, the Aurors’ work was done but instead of celebrating, they were just standing there in the sudden quiet. Picquery was blinking as if dazed though she was unharmed. The Auror that Newt only knew as Chester had a cut on his temple and another on his chin. “What was that all about do you think? Were they trying to crush us or get to something above ground?” No one answered and Newt began to make his way through the rubble. “Shall I go up and see?”

“Newt,” Percy said.

“One thing is clear—they’re very interested in this old waterway,” he mused, looking up at the roof. “I wonder why.”

“Newt,” Percy said once more, his voice now hard as a diamond.

He turned. Percy was standing by Lopez. Lopez was sitting on the floor holding what looked like a coat or a cloak. Newt went nearer. No, it wasn’t a coat or a cloak—it was Tina, draped over Lopez’s lap like a sack of flour. Her eyes were closed and she had a gash on her cheek and blood on her forehead. Off to the side lay an Auror by the name of Hallewell; her eyes were wide open as if staring at something amazing.

“I couldn’t hold it,” Lopez said simply, like he was talking about the weather.

“You need to get her back to MACUSA,” Newt said, feeling as if the world had stopped turning. “Lopez,” he said, leaning over to grip the man’s shoulder. “You need to—”

“Yes,” Lopez said, fumbling for his wand. “I’ll—”

Lopez never finished. His dark skin grew pale as if he were going to faint or throw up. Newt reached for Tina, but Picquery called out, “Corey! Get them both to the infirmary!”

Corey apparated over to Newt and then, almost shoving him out of the way, knelt by Lopez’s side. In a second all three were gone.

Newt got to his feet. He felt queer and off balance, as if he’d aged thirty years in under a minute. He turned. Picquery and Percy were staring at him.

“When you get cleaned up, Mr. Scamander,” Picquery said. “I’d like a word.” She turned to Redde and nodded towards Hallewell’s body. “If you please.” Redde knelt by the dead Auror and then vanished. Picquery gave Newt one more burning look, then, without another word, she left with the rest of her Aurors.

“Percy,” Newt began only to be stopped by the slow shake of Percy’s head.

“Not now,” Percy said. “We need to get back. Are you injured?”

“No.” Newt frowned. “I’m fine, but I have to explain. I thought th—”

“Newt?” Percy said.

“Yes?”

“We’ll talk later. All right?” Without waiting for an answer, Percy disapparated, leaving Newt alone among the dust and rubble and a ringing in his ears.

***

Ignoring Picquery’s command, the first thing Newt did after getting ‘cleaned up’—a process that involved removing his overcoat and making sure the Sweeping Evil was still in its nest—was to visit the infirmary. He wasn’t allowed to go in but the mediwitch did let him view Tina through the little glass window.

Miss Goldstein, the mediwitch said, would be fine. She had a slight contusion of the brain and a broken wrist but other than that, she would be fine.

Newt had laughed bitterly at that, saying, _‘A slight contusion of the brain? Merlin’s Beard, woman, do you know what you’re saying?’_

The mediwitch had frowned and suggested Newt might be needed elsewhere.

He left, intending to go home but ended up outside Percy’s office. He reached for the doorknob but didn’t touch, remembering Percy’s shuttered gaze and his muted, _‘We’ll talk later.’_

Taking the coward’s route, Newt backed away and then returned to the basement. And there he stayed, sitting in his borrowed chair, slumped behind his borrowed desk.

What was the point of him being here? He was contributing nothing and even when he did, he either cocked it up or no one listened. Even Percy thought most of his ideas were foolish, though he was always kind and gentle when he pointed out their flaws. And then there was Tina—

Newt closed his eyes, remembering Percy’s order and Tina’s still form. So, yes, what was the point if even when he _did_ help, it wasn’t help at all? Maybe he was making things worse and he wondered for the first time if he’d made a mistake coming here. Dumbledore and Thee had warned him. Over and over, and perhaps he was the one that wasn’t good at listening. With his heart on his sleeve, he’d been so sure that just by being with Percy, everything would be better.

Which really cut to the heart of the matter, didn’t it, because Percy wasn’t happy. The incident of earlier—was it really just that morning?—when Percy had accidentally lit the scroll on fire was an indicator of that. Back in March when Percy had arrived in Yorkshire, Newt had traveled to Hogwarts, interrupting one of Dumbledore’s classes. He’d stood there at the back of the room, disheveled and anxious. Dumbledore had taken one look at him and dismissed the students. After inviting Newt to his rooms for tea, Dumbledore had set Newt down and shoved a teacup into his hand and then asked…

 _…‘Not that I don’t enjoy your company, young Newt, but there must be something wrong for you to take such a risk as you’re still_ persona non grata _. Why are you here?’_

_Newt put down the tea that he really didn’t want. ‘Professor, something’s wrong with him. He’s skin and bones and when he looks at you he’s not really looking at you.’_

_‘As it would be disingenuous to ask of whom you are speaking,’ the professor said calmly, ‘I will only say this: what did you expect?’_

_Newt placed his hands on his knees. ‘I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.’_

_The professor frowned as if he wanted to thwap Newt upside the head. ‘Well think about it, then. He was kidnapped and taken prisoner and then held captive for weeks. What he was subjected to, even I don’t want to know though being quite cognizant of Gellert and where his inclinations lie, I can guess. How do you expect a man to just get over that?’_

_Newt considered all that, especially the_ ‘subjected to’ and ‘inclinations,’ _parts—it made him sick and furiously angry just thinking about it. ‘I couldn’t stand it anymore so I went to the cottage today.’_

_‘And?’_

_‘And, he’s afraid to use his magic. I could see it when I asked him to help me with a doxie.’_

_‘Very astute of you,’ Dumbledore said with a sigh. He put down his teacup and clasped his hands together. ‘He is, indeed, afraid to use his magic. Apparently, his spells have been misfiring, quite literally.’_

_‘And that’s all?’_

_‘No. He also thinks Gellert has taken up residence inside him somehow.’_

_Suddenly chilled, Newt asked, ‘Is that possible? Even with the spells that he used?’_

_‘No,’ Dumbledore answered gravely. ‘It’s not, but it’s futile to convince Percival of that and don’t you even try.’_

_Newt straightened up, affronted. ‘I would never.’_

_‘Yes, you would. All in the guise of helping him, you would.’ Dumbledore did something surprising, then—he reached out and took Newt’s hand. ‘Yes, you love him and want to help him, but this is a journey he must make on his own. He needs proof of his own sanity and absolution for the crimes he never committed. So, for now, we shall play along.’_

_‘And I must do nothing?’_

_Dumbledore sighed again. ‘I never said that.’_

_‘What, then?’_

_‘Go slow. Remind him that there’s life and love beyond past experience. If he speaks of Grindelwald—which he probably won’t—let him talk but don’t try to fix it.’_

_‘Very well,’ Newt said after a moment, his hopes crumpled that much more. Going slow had been the refrain all these years: Wait. Not now. The time isn’t right. He was tired of waiting; he wanted so much more from Percy than conversation._

_Some of his dejection must have shown because Dumbledore squeezed his hand and let go. ‘Don’t be so glum. I have a feeling that a sea change is about to occur.’ He smiled brightly. ‘You just need to be patient, young Newt, and all your dreams will come true…’_

‘All your dreams will come true,’ Newt remembered. What a laugh, because standing back and looking at the whole thing rationally, he could finally admit how deeply unsettled things were between Percy and him. The minute he’d arrived in New York, things had changed, an invisible tip to some invisible scale.

All animals were territorial. Some expressed it loudly and with verve, others less aggressively as a way to stay in good with their pack. The Ringtail Moke, for example, preferred to live in groups of seven. If a mokling got separated from the family, it had to find a new herd in order to survive. When it did, it would shrink almost to nothing in a display of submissiveness in order to assure the new group it wasn’t a threat.

Percy wasn’t a moke but he had a territory and Newt was starting to think he was threatening it on a microscopic level.

Well, maybe not _threaten,_ Newt decided moodily as he leaned back to stare up at the ugly ceiling of the ugly office. It was probably more a subtle invasion into a life so controlled by routine and symmetry that any change caused chaos and confusion, and what a surprise that was. Even a year ago if someone had asked Newt to describe Percival Graves, he would have used adjectives such as _beautiful_ and _exciting,_ not _ordered_ and _controlled._

So, what to do about it?

He had several options as far as he could see. He could get his suitcase and leave, telling Percy it was just for a while until he sorted things out. After a time, if Percy were amenable, he’d return, if not…

Or, he could stay and see it through and probably make things worse.

Only two very bad options, both meaning the end of something that had never really begun, something he had assumed was the culmination of a journey started while he was still in school. Thee always accused him of being such a child; maybe he’d been right all along.

Newt was still sitting there, despondent and dithering, when a paper mouse scurried under the door and jumped on the desk. It unfolded itself and he read:

_If you’re still in the office, Scamander, I want to see you ASAP._

_SP_

ASAP, Newt thought, pushing the note away. ASAP to be sent home. ASAP to watch his dream of a life with Percy die on the vine. He pushed the note again, this time shoving it onto the floor. He sighed and called it back to him with a wave of his wand. The paper flew to his hand, and…

And.

And maybe not, he thought, staring at Picquery’s signature. There was one other option, one other thing that he could do that the others couldn’t and contrary to what he’d told Percy earlier, he didn’t really want to do it and was quite possibly terrified.

But adventure had never terrified him before, he reminded himself, and this was just another adventure. And his own choice.

Decision made, he retrieved his lunch from his desk. He’d eat and then nap because who knew when he’d get the chance to do either anytime soon.

***

Newt was curled up on the sofa, almost asleep, when a thought nudged him awake. He stared dully up at the maps on the wall, thinking that even given everything that happened, perhaps he should at least write Percy a note. That would be the adult thing to do. But no, he decided, shifting because the sofa was so very uncomfortable and because he was remembering the disappointed look Percy had given him back in the tunnel. A note would only make Percy worry and he’d had enough of that. Besides, Tina was probably wrong—he had no doubt the portkey’s destination was somewhere close by. It made no sense for it to be anything other than a location where Grindelwald could transport to, then hide and scheme.

Which meant that when Newt returned, probably within minutes, no one would be the wiser.

Satisfied that he’d thought of every angle, Newt closed his eyes and dropped off.

***

This probably wasn’t going to work. With everything that had been going on, Picquery had no doubt doubled her security measures, even for the areas that normally needed none. Newt’s only advantage was that everyone had a blind spot and Picquery’s was the dumbwaiter that brought her meals to and fro.

So he took his courage in hand and climbed into the cavity. It was a tight fit because of his height and bulky coat, but he managed. He waved his wand and closed the door.

The ride up was uncomfortable and long but eventually it stopped with a jolt. Breath held, Newt waited for exclamations or queries but there was just silence. He opened the door. As he’d hoped, the room was dark and silent. He slid and then fell out.

The tell-all on the shelf near the door began to squawk but he was prepared and a quick _silencio_ shut the device up. If there was going to be any impediment to his plan, it was going to be the lock on the desk. But even that was easy and maybe Picquery should have known better. A muttered _alohomora_ did the trick, the tumblers turning even as he was speaking. He opened the drawer and took out the case. “ _Lumos_ ,” he whispered. His wand lit up and he opened the box. They were all still there, the portkeys. In the glow cast by his wand, the bland objects now seemed sly and devious, as if they were quite aware of his plan and were rubbing their figurative hands with glee.

“Oh, stop it,” he muttered because he was starting to get nervous and nerves were never a good thing in situations like these. He set the box down and examined the keys. Which to choose? If his theory was right, they all led to the same place, so it really didn’t matter and his hand was out, ready to pick up the dragonfly stickpin because it truly was pretty, when the door burst open and the room flooded with light.

Frozen, Newt could only stare at Percy, coatless with his shirtsleeves rolled up. Behind him stood Picquery.

A quick glance showed Picquery’s hat and coat on the stand next to the door. She must have set additional, silent alarms, so, not easy, nor stupid, and Newt smiled weakly. “Caught in the act.”

Percy came into the room. “What do you think you’re doing?” He glanced down and his entire expression changed. “No.”

“It’s the only way,” Newt said. “None of you can be spared, but I—” He smiled again, his logic faltering under the weight of Percy’s gaze. “Don’t worry. I’ll be all right.”

Percy took another step. “Don’t you dare.”

Though Percy was terrifyingly fast even without his wand, it wouldn’t be a contest because Newt’s fingers were only a breath away from the pin. “It’s the only way,” he repeated. “It will be all right. I lo—” But he couldn’t say it, not with their audience of one, not with the way things were between them. So he just added, feeling the sting of coming loss, “Please take care of my creatures.”

And then he smiled crookedly and grabbed the portkey.


	2. The White Wave

Book II — The White Wave

 

When Percy was seventeen and one of the best chasers in school, he was loaned out to Hogwarts to play in their exhibition match against France. Tired from the long trip but feeling fit, he’d played his best, which meant he played with reckless joy.

He’d just passed the quaffle to Theseus when a French player by the name of Juliana, cobbed him high and tight with her elbow. He swerved to avoid her only to discover he’d moved right into the path of the oncoming snitch. Twisting, he jerked his broom too hard and lost his perch. His broom went one way and he went another, plummeting down to the earth.

He always remembered that moment so clearly. His free fall only lasted seconds but he had time to wonder how long it would take to hit the ground, counting silently: _‘One dragon’s breath, two dragon’s breaths, three…’_

He’d reached three seconds when a shadow had loomed from below. It turned out to be his broom, racing to meet him. It caught him and carried him aloft to the roar of the crowd.

It was like that now, he thought as he counted the seconds. Newt had been there and was now gone and it was important to count the seconds because there were only going to be a handful because Newt was coming back, he _was…_

“Graves.”

Ignoring Seraphina, he kept counting: _Six dragon’s breaths, seven dragon’s breaths, eight—_

“Graves!”

_Nine dragon’s brea…_

“Did you know about this? Is that why you wanted to meet in your office?”

Seraphina’s words didn’t make sense. Percy frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Were you clearing the way so Scamander could break into my desk?”

He turned, his body stiff and unwieldy. Whatever showed on his face made Seraphina’s face darken.

“Graves,” she said again, but he had no time for her.

With a twitch of his hand, he broke the hard and fast _no apparating within MACUSA walls_ rule and disapparated down to the prisons.

The last time he’d been to the cell, he’d left after a handful of minutes, so angry, feeling so filthy from the things Grindelwald had said that he’d gone home and soaked in the bathtub for an hour. He’d even cringed at the thought of returning, not that he’d told anyone that. But today he strode past the pillars, every alarm on the floor shrieking, warning of his arrival.

He never got to the cage. He was within sight of it when a wash of air made him stop in his tracks.

“I’m not going to let you in there,” Seraphina said very quietly.

With another breath of air, a line of Aurors popped into view. They blocked the cage but Percy could see Grindelwald get up from his cot to see what was going on. Percy clenched his fists and took another step. The wards he himself had set were keyed to emotional as well as proximity responses and he could feel the invisible power press against his body.

“I have an inkling why you’re so angry,” Seraphina murmured, “but I’m _not_ letting you in there. You won’t get anything out of him, not in this state.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“He won’t tell you anything. And…” Seraphina hesitated, then added baldly, “And if you use force, he’ll just enjoy it.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I’m done with questions. Maybe I’ll get as much pleasure from it as he will.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Percy turned. Behind Seraphina but some distance away was another line of Aurors. It was almost amusing that Seraphina thought that her small army could stop him. “I most certainly do, Seraphina,” he said.

Oddly enough, she gave him a small, honest smile. “I understand But Newt wouldn’t like it, would he?”

It was the first time Seraphina had used Newt’s given name and it broke something inside Percy, just a tiny fissure that cooled his white fury. “No,” he said, “he wouldn’t.”

“It’s been a long day,” she said. “Why don’t you go home and get some sleep. When you’re rested and more composed, you can return.”

He hesitated, then nodded.

“In the morning, come to my office and we’ll sit down and discuss our next move.”

Percy nodded again. His anger was still settling but it hadn’t dissipated—he could almost feel it solidify into a hard shell of resolve.

“And please use the elevators this time.”

He made himself smile.

She gave him a worried nod in return.

He left at a quick stride, his fellow Aurors making way for him.

***

Back in his office, Percy put away his paper and quills and tidied his desk. He unrolled his shirtsleeves and fastened his cufflinks. He did all the tasks with automatic precision, his mind relatively blank. It was only when he closed the door and set the locks did he hesitate. _Home,_ Seraphina had said but he had no true home anymore. Well, he did, of a sort, though his home wasn’t a place but a person. And that person had just done something incredibly stupid and he needed to fix it.

Knowing he wouldn’t get any help from MACUSA, he broke the rules again with no qualms and apparated down to the Floo Station.

***

The trip was over in a second. He stepped from the London transit system and brushed off his coat. Because of the time difference, the place was fairly empty. There was a man heading for one of the portals and a woman waiting by another, impatiently tapping her heel. Hoping it wasn’t against any new MoM rules but not much caring, Percy apparated out.

***

If he’d been thinking clearly, he would have landed outside Theseus’s flat instead of in, but things being the way they were, he didn’t. “Thee? Are you here?”

“What in the…” Theseus grumbled, coming from the bedroom wearing only pajama pants and carrying his wand. He blinked. “Percy?”

Percy nodded. “I’m not disturbing you, am I?” He glanced over Theseus’s shoulder even though he knew the answer to his own question.

“I’m alone, if that’s what you’re asking,” Thee said, returning to the bedroom and coming back with a robe. “Unlike you, you lucky bastard,” he added, pulling on his robe. “Where is he, by the way?”

“About that,” Percy said, then stopped because he really didn’t know how to say what he had to say.

“It must be bad if you came here to tell me yourself,” Thee sighed. “What’s he done now?”

Percy told him.

***

While Thee ranted, Percy made himself a stiff whiskey and then took a seat on the sofa. It helped, a little, watching Thee stride up and down, his language colorful, inventive, and heated. It eased the own tension his chest and by the time Thee threw himself on the sofa, Percy was feeling a little less like burning down the Woolworth Building.

“Are you done?” he asked, staring down at his drink.

Thee rubbed his face, then his head. “No, but what’s the point? It’s not like it’ll do any good—who knows where he is.” He looked over at Percy. “You’re holding up fairly well. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you weren’t the least bit upset.”

“But you know better.”

Thee gave him a half smile. “I’m sorry, Perce.”

“I am too.” He glanced at Thee from the side of his eyes. “At least I’m not the one that has to tell your parents.”

Thee swore again and then muttered, “Sometimes I wish I had no brother.”

Percy didn’t have to think. “I don’t.”

Thee frowned. “Even with all the trouble he caused? I heard about the mess one of his creatures made in your record’s department. And now he’s done something that could bring all of Grindelwald’s army down on your head. He’ll be kicked out. If he ever gets back, of course,” Thee added morosely.

“I can’t think about that last bit or I’ll—” He shrugged and then downed his drink and set the glass on the table. “It’s all been worth it, Theseus. Every minute and if that’s all I’ll ever have, I’ll count myself lucky.”

Thee gazed at him for a long time, and then he said quietly, “I’ve never heard you speak of anyone or anything like that. I believe I’m jealous.”

Percy smiled. “You had your chance.”

Thee cocked his head. “So you’re saying that if I had ever…?”

Remembering those first days, the way he’d felt whenever Thee had cuffed him or tackled him in play—there had been affection, yes, but that was all. “No,” he said a little regretfully. “I think I was waiting for him all along even though I didn’t know I was waiting.”

Neither said anything for a moment, mad then Thee slapped his thighs and got up. “Since I’m not going to get any sleep tonight, I’ll change and then we can be off.”

Feeling as if he’d missed a huge chunk of conversation, Percy asked, “Where are we going?”

“Where do you think?”

***

“You know what I’d really like to do?” Thee asked, his breath coming white in the cold air.

“What would you really like to do?” Percy said. They were standing on the bridge, gazing up at the dark castle. The waxing moon seemed to be resting on Headmaster Dippet’s turret like a peach pit stuck on a pike.

“I’d like to find his room and throw rocks at the window. It would be so funny.”

“Be my guest. His rooms are on the cliffside.”

“Then how do you propose we get up there? We can’t apparate in, nor can we use brooms. There are alarms everywhere, never mind that blasted caretaker.”

“Perhaps you should just ask me to let you in?” came a voice from behind.

Like a vaudeville comedy routine, Percy and Theseus turned as one, almost knocking each other down. Albus was standing right behind them, still in his pajamas, robe, and slippers.

“Hello, Albus,” Percy said.

“Nice footgear. Very Oriental,” was Thee’s addition as he nodded to the tassels on Albus’s slippers.

Albus folded his hands together. “I’ve been expecting you. Dippet received an owl about thirty minutes ago,” he said gravely. “It said that Magizoologist Scamander had ported to parts unknown and is now considered to be a person of interest in the Grindelwald case. All heads of various councils and boards have been notified.”

“What?” Theseus demanded before Percy could even open his mouth.

“Apparently, the fact that he broke into Seraphina’s office and stole an article belonging to one of our most deadly enemies is causing a commotion.”

“‘Commotion,’ my foot,” Theseus muttered heatedly. “Newt may be a lot of things but traitor isn’t one of them.”

“You may know that and I may know that,” Albus said, “but _they_ don’t.”

“He did it,” Percy said, the words burning his throat, “because he knew we couldn’t. He did it for us, Albus.”

Albus came forward and laid his hand on Percy’s shoulder. “My dear, I assumed as much. I’m also assuming that you told him not to.”

“Yes.”

Albus squeezed. “Our Newt was never much for rules and he hates being told not to do something.”

Percy’s smile was faint. “That’s Newt in a nutshell.”

Albus squeezed once more then let go. “We can’t talk here and we should avoid any kind of magical eavesdroppers.” He tugged on his beard, then said, “It’s a bit of a distance but the Green Griffin in Larkshall won’t have closed their doors yet.”

“I know the place,” Theseus said, raising his wand. “We’ll order a late supper.”

“See that’s just supper,” Albus said sharply. “We need to keep our wits about us tonight.”

Thee rolled his eyes. “Albus, please. Who do you think you’re talking to?” And then he took Percy’s arm. “That said, the way I’m feeling, you’d better hurry.”

***

Percy didn’t try to stop Theseus from ordering two pints each and two meat pasties. But, he didn’t drink and he didn’t eat; he just watched from their corner of the room as the no-maj’s came and went, some drunk, most not.

Theseus was equally quiet though he made a good show of business as usual. They were struggling for the tiniest of small talk when a voice once more surprised them: “Could you two look any more glum?”

Thee jumped but Percy did not.

“Could you be any more slow?” Theseus asked.

“Dippet stopped me on the way out. We received another owl.”

“What did it say?” Percy asked, not wanting to hear the answer.

“It’s not as bad as all that,” Albus said as he sat down. “Percival, will you please…” He nodded to the room.

With a twitch of his fingers, Percy cast a privacy spell around the table.

“Thank you,” Albus said, nodding to the beer. “Which of these is mine?”

Percy nudged his towards Albus. “It wasn’t another attack, was it?”

“Not at all. Seraphina has called for an emergency session of the ICW.” Albus sipped his beer and then looked at the glass. “Awful stuff, isn’t it?” He set the glass down. “At five tomorrow evening, all ambassadors are to meet in Paris.”

“She wouldn’t have done that if she didn’t have new information,” Percy said slowly.

Albus nodded. “My thoughts exactly.”

“It probably has something to do with my fool of a brother,” Theseus added.

“The timing is a little suspicious,” Albus agreed.

Theseus raised an eyebrow. “I know that look. What are you worried about?”

Albus tugged one of the meat pies closer, then pushed it away with a little moué of distaste. “In cases such as these, there is usually only one reason to convene the Council and that is to obtain approval for the most extreme of actions.”

“And those would be?” Theseus asked.

“It could be for permission to relocate or even execute Gellert, but I have a feeling it has more to do with Newton.”

If Percy had felt as if his world had tipped over before, now it felt as if he were falling. “You think they’re going to hunt him?”

Albus nodded. “I think Gellert has terrified them enough that they will go to drastic measures to ensure that one of their own—in this case, young Newt—has no chance to do them any further harm.”

“They wouldn’t do that,” Thee protested. “Not after what he did for them in New York last year.”

Albus dropped his voice and leaned closer. “I don’t think you understand what it would mean if Gellert escapes. He won’t slink off into obscurity. He will gather a new army, a _bigger_ army, and once he has everything and everyone in position, he will make his assault on the Muggle world. Muggles have their deficiencies, but they aren’t without resources. They will respond in kind, only they will use bombs and guns.” Albus shook his head. “It would mean a new world war, a new _kind_ of war. Whole cities would be lost and the casualties on both sides would be…” He shook his head again. “It doesn’t bear thinking about.”

They were all quiet for a moment and then Thee spoke, “So, they’ll be after Newt but how in the hell will they find him if even _we_ can’t?”

“I can think of several ways,” Albus replied. “None of them are good.”

Percy sat back. “Are you saying they’ll send dementors after him?”

“That or scourers.” Albus cocked his head. “There are still some around, you know.” And then he leaned forward and covered Percy’s hand, murmuring, “Percival, you’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

Percy followed Albus’s gaze. The cheap candle in the middle of the table was now a torch ten inches high. With a muttered curse and an abbreviated wave, he doused the flame.

“I thought you had that under control.” Albus said, giving Percy a sharp look. “Has that been happening often?”

“Now and then,” Percy answered, shrugging away Albus’s concern. “But it doesn’t matter—what are we going to do about Newt?”

Albus gave him another long look but only said, “I’ve been pondering that subject this whole while. In a way, it’s my fault.”

Theseus snorted. “How is this any of _your_ fault? You had no way of knowing that Newt would do something this stupid.”

“Not that,” Albus replied. He picked up his beer and put it down immediately, an uncharacteristic show of nervousness that set off Percy’s internal warning system.

“You’re talking about Grindelwald,” Percy said quietly.

Albus nodded. “I am indeed.”

“You mean to confront him,” Percy added, giving Thee a quick look.

“It’s about time, don’t you think? I should have the moment they imprisoned him.”

“You’re going now?”

“Yes, now.”

“And Newt? What about him?”

Albus picked up the beer and took a long draft before muttering, “This really is the most awful brew—the publican should be ashamed.” He wiped his lips and then nodded and turned to Percy. “Yes, Newt. We must nip that little bit of hysterical fiction in the bud and while we journey to New York, why don’t you catch me up on the MACUSA investigation.”

***

In between Theseus’s interruptions, Percy gave Albus a synopsis of recent events. He related the details of the attacks, the few conclusions and the many suppositions accrued by his Aurors.

They’d arrived outside MACUSA headquarters and were riding the elevator up when he mentioned their theories as to why each witch and wizard carried cheap gems and doodads. It was news to Theseus and as the elevator doors opened, Theseus began to chastise Percy for leaving such an important detail out of his reports. Percy, of course, responded, saying that they’d only just recently come to the conclusions and that MACUSA had asked for assistance in the first place.

From there, the discussion eroded into back and forth accusations until Albus pressed his palm to his forehead and said mildly, “Theseus, Percival, you are giving me a headache and considering what lies before me, I’d appreciate it if you’d both just shut it.”

It had been a long time since Percy had heard Albus talk that way and he laughed out loud. It felt so good, the laughter, and he followed it with a grin. He really, really didn’t want to see Grindelwald again and he was desperate to find Newt, but being with Albus always made him feel better. He was still smiling when the elevator doors opened and he found himself face-to-face with Seraphina and Lopez.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Seraphina said sedately. “This is a surprise.”

Albus stepped out of the elevator. “Come, Seraphina,” he said, taking her hand. “There’s no reason to be so formal with me.” He bent down and kissed the back of her hand.

Seraphina unbent, just a little, and when she spoke again, her voice wasn’t quite as tight or angry, “I’ve just been finalizing the memorial service for one of my Aurors, Albus. I’m tired.”

Albus straightened up. “Then you’re not going to like what I’ve got to say.”

“Given recent events…” Seraphina folded her hands together and shot a look Percy’s way. “…it’s either about Scamander or Grindelwald.” Her gaze flickered to Theseus. “Scamander the younger, of course.”

Albus nodded easily. “Of course it is. We’ll discuss young Newt later, but yes, I’ve come to converse with my old friend.”

It was a calculated risk that Seraphina would fall for Albus’s kindly professor routine because she was a stickler for protocol. But she deflated immediately and then gestured towards the elevator.

“You might as well,” she said as she and Lopez followed Albus onto the car. “We’ve had no luck. I’ll warn you, though, that we used our best legilimens. She received nothing from him. In fact, she likened it to throwing a stone onto a piece of ice—everything slid off.”

“Gellert is very skilled at occlumency,” Albus agreed.

Wondering if Seraphina knew who’d taught Grindelwald that delicate skill, Percy gave Thee a sideways glance. Thee returned a slight shrug and a slighter grimace.

“Be that as it may, please take care,” Seraphina said as the elevator slowed down. “We can’t afford to lose you.”

Percy didn’t catch Albus’s answer—as the elevator doors opened, Lopez touched his arm

“Sir?” Lopez said.

“Yes?”

“I wanted to tell you that I saw Goldstein earlier today. She asked to speak to you.”

Percy tightened his lips. In all that had happened, he’d forgotten about Tina. “She’s awake?”

“She is. She really wants to speak with you. She got very, er, agitated when I said you had departed for parts unknown. The night nurse had to give her something to calm her nerves.”

If Percy had been in a better mood, he’d smile at Lopez’s overly formal language—Lopez preferred slang and colorful curses. It was probably the presence of Albus and Theseus that him picking and choosing his words. “I’ll see her in the morning. Now…” He nodded towards Seraphina and Albus. “…come on.”

It was maybe a three-minute walk from the elevators to the Grindelwald’s cell. One hundred and eighty seconds wasn’t enough time for dread and fear to grow so quickly but Percy found himself counting, _‘One dragon’s breath, two—’_

Albus stopped and turned. “Did you say something?”

“No,” Percy said. “I didn’t.”

Albus gave him a look telling Percy that if they were alone he’d ask, _‘Why do you think you can lie to me?’_ Out loud, he said, “It would be best if I converse with Gellert alone. He won’t be happy to see me and that will be something I can use to my advantage.”

Seraphina hesitated, then nodded shortly. “We’ll wait here.”

“Thank you.” Albus paused and then said as if he just thought it, “On the other hand, surprise is always of benefit when dealing with Gellert. I’ll take Director Graves with me. Given his recent interactions with your guest, I believe he will be of assistance.”

Seraphina could hardly object as she’d just given her permission, but it was clear she wanted to. She pressed her lips together and then said, “Will ten minutes be enough?”

Albus smiled. “More than. Thank you, Madam President.” He nodded to Seraphina and then gestured to Percy. “After you.”

Percy waited until they were some distance away, then muttered, “What are you up to, Albus?”

“I understand this will be difficult, but I truly believe your presence will put Gellert off his game. I’m not sure what will happen, but watch him very carefully. He prides himself on control—any leeway or ground he gives up will pain him greatly and thus expose him further.” Albus touched Percy’s elbow. “It’s very important that we not ask him directly about young Newt. The minute we do, he’ll recognize the question for what it is. Wherever Newt is, we can’t make his situation worse.”

There was no time for more because they were rounding the last corner and the last pillar. The guards jumped up as soon as they saw Percy; he put his finger to his lips, then tipped his head, telling them to leave. They looked at each other, then nodded and vanished.

Months ago, while still recovering from the abduction and doing everything he could to maintain some semblance of normality, Percy had been tasked with the installation of Grindelwald’s prison.

He had chosen a section far from the other cells, once used to hold unused office supplies, furniture, and everything else MACUSA couldn’t be bothered to store upstairs. After apparating it all away, Percy had ordered the creation of a large cell of titanium-laced iron. It was bolted down to the floor, accessible and viewable from all sides. There was just a bed, table, chair and a washbasin. The only nod to privacy was the toilet behind a curtain. They’d installed a proper bathroom but during that first week, Grindelwald had removed the screws and nails that held the walls together and used them to attack Hamilton. Hamilton still had the scars on her temples, cheeks, and neck.

The entire structure was reinforced with bolts and double this and triple that, as well as every kind of magic that he, Theseus, and Seraphina had been able conjure. Now, only yards away, the air fairly buzzed with so much power that Percy could feel it crawling on his skin like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

Grindelwald had been sleeping, but by some trick of his special senses, he woke and sat up, his back to Percy and Albus. Making a show of it, he stretched and yawned. “Guests this late in the day? You should charge admission like they did in the good old days.” He began to turn very slowly. “‘Come see the wizard who terror…’” Grindelwald’s voice died as he recognized his visitors. There was a moment of complete silence and then he whispered, “Albus?”

Albus nodded sedately. “Hello, Gellert.”

Always quick on the recovery, Grindelwald’s expression evened out. He came to stand before the bars.

Using his own experiences with Grindelwald, Percy had fashioned a special charm for the iron—if Grindelwald came within even a yard of the bars, they’d exude a very painful rebound force.

A foot away, Grindelwald had to have felt a large amount of pain but he didn’t blink or wince. He just smiled and murmured, “It’s about time. I thought you’d never get up the nerve.”

“It wasn’t nerve, or lack thereof,” Albus answered. “I’ve simply been busy.”

“Busy educating your brats on how to be mundane and useless? They might as well be Muggles.”

“Perhaps,” Albus nodded as if actually considering the accusation. “At least they won’t end up behind lock and key.”

“Hmm,” Gellert purred, finally glancing at Percy. “And you’ve brought my favorite Auror.” He took a step closer. “Did he tell you how much fun we had? He was quite delicious.”

Albus tipped his head. “To be perfectly honest, Percy and I have spoken only a few words regarding you.” He shifted his weight, bringing his sleeve against Percy’s.

It was a calculated ploy, one Grindelwald immediately responded to.

“Please don’t tell me that you and Graves are—” Grindelwald smiled, showing a row of sharp teeth. “Are you trying to make me jealous, Albie?”

Percy started at the nickname but Albus just shrugged and replied, “I never had to do anything to make you jealous, Gellert. It’s your natural bent, as you well know.”

“I wasn’t jealous, Albus. To be jealous, one has to love and I never loved you.”

“Then it’s just as well, isn’t it?” Albus answered. “Given that I’m free and you’re not, it would be very one-side relationship and I’m no longer interested in that kind of thing.”

Percy thought that would make a dent in Grindelwald’s armor, but he brushed it off with another smile. “We both know I won’t be in here long. Even now my followers and flowers are gathering. I’ve heard they’ve already started their attacks.”

Albus actually frowned. “Have they? All I’ve heard is that a few misguided wizards and witches were apprehended. It’s unclear whether or not they were looking for you. Maybe they were visiting the city and got lost?”

That hit, a sly graze that made Grindelwald hesitate for the briefest of moments. “Perhaps.” His gaze flickered to Percy again but it was Albus that he asked, “And what did you do with them, these visitors?”

Percy spoke for the first time, keeping his tone casual and light, “We sent them on their way.” He shrugged. “They weren’t doing anyone any harm.”

Grindelwald’s gaze flickered once more, confusion marring his pale features for the first time. His jaw worked, as if a tumble of questions were clogging his throat, but all he said was, “You did, did you?”

Percy nodded. “We did.”

Grindelwald started to speak but before he could, Albus clasped his hands together and said, “Well, this has been interesting but Percy and I must be off. The time difference is playing havoc with my stomach and I’m quite hungry. Percy has told me of a restaurant nearby that serves the most delicious steak and kidney pie. If I’ve time, I’ll stop by before I leave.” He smiled. “Goodbye, Gellert.”

This time Grindelwald showed his hand, lunging forward to grasp the bars. The iron squealed and glowed as the alarms rang out. “No, you don’t, Albus! I’m not finished with you!”

But Albus had already turned. Percy followed, feeling as if he had a wand pointed at the back of his head.

 _“Albus!”_ Grindelwald shouted. “Come back here!”

Albus made no response and neither did Percy.

“ _Albus!_ ”

“Well, that was enlightening as well as cryptic,” Albus murmured as soon as they were out of sight of the cell but not earshot—Grindelwald was still screaming and shouting. “How are you? Did he upset you?”

Ahead, Theseus and Seraphina were waiting by a pillar. Lopez was kicking a piece of brick back and forth. “I’m fine,” Percy answered, though it was a bit of a lie. He wasn’t upset. Mildly nauseous and somewhat shaky, but he was used to those reactions after visiting Grindelwald.

“You did well, by the way—that bit about letting his minions go was pure genius. It infuriated him.”

“So was the steak pie comment. His meals have been filling but plain.” Percy would have said much more, but Seraphina was striding towards them. “What was that bit about ‘flowers’?”

“I have no idea; let’s keep it to ourselves for now,” Albus whispered as Seraphina called out, “What happened? Did you manage to get through to him?” She waved her wand and turned off the alarms. “Albus?”

“All is well, my dear madam,” Albus said. “I did get a reaction, but I’m not sure how much use any of it will be. It was mostly just rantings and ravings, the sort you’ve already documented.”

Seraphina turned to Percy. “Graves? Is this true?”

Percy shrugged. “I didn’t hear anything different from all the other sessions. You might want to send for the mediwitch, however—he grabbed the bars at one point.”

Seraphina examined him for a long moment, then nodded to Lopez. “Wake Mavis and ask her to see to our prisoner.”

“You might want to sedate him first,” Albus said. “Just to be safe.”

Lopez nodded and then strode away.

“And now,” Albus said, gesturing to the elevators. “I would like to discuss young Newt. My headmaster informed me that you are under the impression that he’s a danger to the wizarding community.”

“It’s quite likely,” Seraphina said. “Why else would he have done what he did?”

“My brother,” Theseus growled before Percy or Albus could reply, “always has a reason for his actions, as nonsensical as they sometimes are.” They stepped onto the elevator. “To think he acted out of malice or self-service is beyond idiotic.”

Seraphina drew a sharp breath but Albus gestured, “Calm, please. It will only work to Gellert’s advantage to have us at each other’s throats. We shall adjourn to your office…” He nodded to Seraphina. “And discuss this like adults.” That was for Thee, who just glared.

The elevator doors opened and they all trooped out. Except for Percy, who held the doors but didn’t move. “I just remembered an errand I need to run. It will take about an hour.”

“Does this errand have anything to do with Grindelwald or Scamander?” Seraphina asked.

“No,” Percy answered, only slightly lying. He really did have an errand but he also had no wish to be a bystander for the conversation to come. The day was catching up to him and he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to hold his tongue if Seraphina said anything derogatory about Newt and his motives. He wasn’t quite sure what was going to happen in the next few days and it was important he have access to MACUSA’s resources. And since access meant keeping his job… “It’s just a bit of light housekeeping,” he added evenly.

Albus’s gaze sharpened but he just nodded to Theseus. “You might as well go with him—I can do without your hot temper for a while.”

Surprisingly, Thee nodded and got back on the elevator. “We’ll meet you after for a late supper. I’ll send you the address.” He tipped his hat towards Seraphina. “Madam.”

Percy waited until the elevator doors had closed before reminding Thee, “You just ate.”

“I can always eat—you know that,” Thee answered and then turned. “Now, I know you and Albus were lying—what did you learn?”

There was no one around, but Percy shook his head slightly and murmured, “Not here.”

***

Once outside, he led Thee to an alley and then, glancing around once more, got the velvet bag out of his pocket. He opened it up and then gave Thee a small smile. “You’ll want to hold on tight. This won’t be pleasant.” As soon as Thee had taken his arm, Percy reached inside the bag and touched the hippogriff-shaped thimble that was his portkey to Newt.

***

“By all that’s holy,” Thee complained, bent over with his hands on his knees. “I’m going to retch.”

“I know,” Percy said as he took off his overcoat and then jacket. “I’ve gotten used to it but the first few times were not fun, to say the least.”

“And you can’t fix it?”

“Newt said no. I’m not sure if he was telling the truth or if he just likes to see me whimper like a baby.”

The latter was too much detail but Thee said nothing other than, “Where are we?”

“Where do you think?” Their arrival had finally been noticed and he could hear the chirps of the occamies and the roar of the graphorns.

Thee straightened up. “This is his zoo.”

Percy reached for the apron Newt kept by the door. “More of a farm. Haven’t you been here before?”

“Once, when he was building the first room.” Thee glanced around. “It wasn’t such a disaster, but I suppose that’s Newt for you.”

“I suppose,” Percy said, adding, “Hello,” as Dougal swung into the office. Knowing the routine by now, he dropped the measuring cup and held his arms out. Dougal gave him a swift hug, only this time it didn’t let go. “I know,” Percy murmured. “I’m worried, too.”

Dougal purred and then leapt from Percy’s arms to the countertop. The creature, Percy had found, liked to watch him. It had bothered him at first but not any longer.

Thee hadn’t missed a moment of the exchange. “So, he’s got you obsessed with them, too?”

Percy didn’t bother with denials. He just measured out the grain for the spotted gougers and said, “‘Obsession’ isn’t the word I’d use, but yes, I care for them. It would be hard not to.” He winked at Dougal; Dougal winked back. “Here,” he said, handing the grain to Theseus. “Make yourself useful and I tell you what happened back there.”

***

He was never as quick as Newt when it came to feeding the animals, and he went slowly about the enclosures, saying hello to the inhabitants and giving his apologies for taking so long. While he worked, he relayed the conversation with Grindelwald to Theseus, stopping every now and then because Thee kept getting into things he shouldn’t.

But it was good having Thee along—he was a welcome distraction, something that helped keep Percy’s mind on every day things and not the dark thoughts that kept creeping in. Thoughts such as, _‘What if Newt never returns?’_ and, _‘I’m going to torch the cage and its contents if Newt is harmed.’_ When he was done, he gave his favorite occamy one last scratch, and led Thee to the empty thunderbird enclosure. They sat on one of the boulders and watched the sun dip behind the hills.

“So the, _‘I’ve heard,’_ comment,” Theseus said after Percy was done talking, “means he either slipped up or was trying to get your goat.”

Percy nodded. “Albus might have a different take, but I didn’t catch any subterfuge. I think he was just very angry. Albus’s intimation that he and I were—” He reached down and tugged on a long piece of prairie grass. “…you know—enraged him. He’d always kept his distance from the bars before.”

“You understand what it means if he’s telling the truth.”

Percy brushed the grass along the back of his hand. If Newt were sitting beside him, he’d brush it against his palm. Or lips. “It means we have a saboteur in our midst. Again.”

“It would answer a great many of the questions I’ve asked that were never answered.”

“I know.” Percy couldn’t look at Theseus when he added, “Newt thought as much, too. He tried to convince me but I brushed him off.”

Neither of them spoke for a while and then Thee sighed, “Never mind that for now. We need to talk to Albus.”

Percy nodded again but didn’t move.

“If you’ve got a traitor, we’re going to have to flush them out before they do any real harm.”

 _‘Real harm,’_ Percy thought as he looked up at Thee, his neck stiff as wood, his throat tight. They had known each other since they were boys, he and Theseus. He probably knew Theseus better than anyone, save Newt and Albus. And so he knew the comment was an off-the-cuff nothing, said because it was what anyone would have said. Still…

Thee’s expression changed and he gripped Percy’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean it like that. We’re going to get him back. I promise you.”

Percy made himself nod. “I know.”

Theseus squeezed and then let him go. “Come on. I’m starving.”

“Theseus?”

“Yes?”

“I need to check in on the nundu.”

“Code for: ‘I’d like to be alone a while so why don’t you go get your own dinner?’”

“It’s been a long day.”

Thee wanted to argue—Percy could see it. But he just clapped Percy on the shoulder and said, “We’ll owl you if we need you. Now,…” He craned his neck and looked all around. “How the devil am I suppose to get out of here?”

***

Percy saw Theseus to the door and then charmed the locks. He really didn’t need to check in on the nundu, but perhaps he should make sure the bowtruckles were all right. He was fairly certain they’d been arguing and pushing Pickett around again. Newt would never forgive him if something happened to Pickett. So, yes, he should go back down but he didn’t. He stood stock still in the middle of the apartment.

He’d never thought much of the place. Newt had furnished it with various items, but haphazardly, as if his mind hadn’t quite been on the job. On the mantelpiece was a beetle encased in a crystal sphere. Next to it was a photograph of an Egyptian pyramid. Next to that was a vase that held flowers long dead. There was only one room that held even a hint of the owner and Percy went to stand at the threshold of the bedroom.

 _‘Just for tonight.’_ That’s what he’d said, too aware of Mr. Evans upstairs and Mr. Reynolds next door. _Just for tonight,_ but he might as well have said, _Only down there where no one will ever see or hear and therefore know,_ because he was still hiding from everyone, even Newt.

Percy had never invited anyone over to the apartment, not even Theseus or Albus and they both knew. Newt hadn’t either, but that was just Newt being Newt.

A few weeks ago, Percy’s father had owled, saying, _‘We’re leaving for Paris at the end of May and thought we’d stop by. We haven’t seen you in months and your mother is worried…’_

Percy had read the letter out loud at the breakfast table and Newt eyes had lit up. He’d said it would be rude having Percy’s parents stay at a hotel as the beds were bound to be uncomfortable and maybe they should get a new mattress and box springs and possibly a sofa? When Percy replied, _‘I have to get to work, let’s talk about it later,’_ Newt had nodded, only to bring it up again over a quick, clandestine lunch and then again that night. During the next few days, Newt offered suggestions, finally winding down because every time he did, Percy said he was too busy with the Grindelwald problem to think about anything else. Eventually, Newt had stopped asking.

Now, Percy had to wonder what his resistance had been all about. His parents could have easily stayed at his old apartment. He had more than enough room. In fact, he could have fit his parents _and_ Newt in the old place and still have enough room for—

Percy stiffened, suddenly realizing that when Newt arrived in New York, he’d just assumed that Newt would want his own place. He’d even made the suggestion, _‘There’s a building a few blocks from work. It’s not much but it’s close so you won’t have to commute. I’ll make arrangements with the landlord, if you like.’_

Newt hadn’t said anything except to thank Percy for the suggestion. He’d gone out later and came back with a signed lease in his hand.

Thinking back on that moment, on Newt’s no-blink response and his own assumptions, Percy wanted to believe that his moment of thoughtlessness was because Grindelwald’s followers had made their first attack a few days prior and everyone was on edge. He wanted to believe that he’d only returned the week before and was still getting used to the rhythm of work after the life-altering absence. He wanted to believe so many things but they were all excuses and lies. He hadn’t wanted Newt to live with him in his own apartment. He hadn’t even thought about it.

Rubbing his temple, he remembered the possibilities of those halcyon first days. It had all seemed so simple—Newt would come to New York, they would be together, they would work together. In reality, nothing much had changed. He spent most of his nights at Newt’s apartment but not all. They took their meals together, yes, but they never went out together. One day while still in England he’d compared his day-to-day, passionless life with the joy-filled promise of Newt. But what he’d offered in return—what Newt had received with little complaint—was a dreary half-life, spent in the shadows with only bare hours as remuneration.

If that weren’t bad enough, he’d almost literally kept Newt in a box and he went to stand before the suitcase, a cold shock running up his spine. What had he been thinking?

Why had Newt put up with it all? It couldn’t just be love. Love was fine for books and romantic plays but real life required more. Even Percy knew that.

Sighing, he stepped into the suitcase. He’d check on the nundu after all, and then see if Pickett was all right.

***

Pickett was _not_ all right and he barely turned his head when Percy gently picked him up.

“See,” Percy said to Dougal who was hovering anxiously. “He’s fine.” Hesitating, because he had a strict, ‘no animals’ in the apartment policy, he told both Dougal and Pickett, “Very well, but just this once.” He winked at Dougal. “And don’t tell Newt.”

***

Though the animals cooed and burbled with interest as they looked all around the apartment, they made no move to run off. Dougal curled up in the armchair near the bed and after a moment, Pickett hopped off Percy’s shoulder and climbed onto Dougal, like a mountain climber scaling a steep height.

Percy thought about changing into his pajamas but was too tired for that. So he just took off his shirt and trousers, then brushed his teeth, avoiding his own face in the mirror.

He got under the bedcovers through an act of sheer will. He’d never slept in this bed without Newt but it was all right—it would be just for a night, maybe two. Newt was coming back. He wasn’t dead or up on the moon. He was on this Earth and he’d be back.

Wondering whom he was trying to convince, Percy rolled to his side and then, after a moment that was longer than it should be, pulled Newt’s pillow to him and wrapped his arm around it.

***

Percy didn’t sleep well that night, tossing and turning as his dreams mixed with events from the waking world. Sometime around three after a hackneyed nightmare of being chained to his desk while he waited for Grindelwald’s daily visit, he woke with a grunt, lashing out at nothing. Dougal was crouched on the chair, his eyes pink with worry. Pickett was standing on the bedside table, half-hiding behind the lamp.

Ignoring them, Percy got up and went directly to the living room and then the liquor cabinet. He poured a whiskey and gulped it down. Then he went back to bed.

***

It was the comforting sounds of Newt in the kitchen that roused Percy the next morning. He lay there just listening, his body heavy with sleep. He couldn’t quite remember, but he thought it was Saturday, which meant no work, which meant a day spent at home. He smiled and stretched. There was a heavy weight against the back of his legs. He raised his head. The heavy weight wasn’t Newt come to sit on the bed, but Dougal, curled up behind his knees. In a flash, Percy remembered: Newt, Thee and Albus, Grindelwald, and finally, the demiguise and Pickett.

Which meant there should be no one in the house and he slid out of bed and apparated to the kitchen, his hand already raised.

Albus and Theseus were sitting at the dining room table as if they owned the place. They were drinking tea and eating some sort of baked goods.

“You see,” Albus said to Theseus. “I told you he’d wake as soon as he smelled the coffee.” He pushed the pot towards Percy. “You can put your hand down—we’ll come quietly.”

“I didn’t smell the coffee,” Percy grumbled. He flicked his fingers and his robe came flying from the bedroom. “You’re just not as quiet as you think you are.” He pulled the robe on, then went to the stove. “What time is it?”

“A little past noon,” Theseus said. “We were getting worried.”

“I wasn’t,” Albus said. “I told you he wouldn’t have slept well and that we should give him as much time as possible.”

“We don’t have time, Albus,” Theseus replied.

Percy turned. For once, Thee’s disposition was sour and grim. “What happened?”

“What happened is that you have a very astute Auror as an assistant,” Albus said. “We chatted with your Miss Goldstein this morning and she has a theory as to why Grindelwald’s people are attacking in very specific spots.”

Percy frowned. “And that would be?” Before either Albus or Theseus could answer, he asked, “Are those from Jacob’s bakery?” because he’d just seen the white box with the distinctive _Kowalski Bakery_ mark.

“Yes,” Albus said placidly. “Miss Goldstein decided that reinforcements were in order as you’re a man down.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you should have called me as soon as Newt disappeared,” came a voice from the door.

Percy turned to find Jacob standing in the doorway, an apron around his waist, thick leather gloves on his hands, and Pickett on his shoulder.

“I mean, disapparated, right?” Jacob added. “That’s what you call it? Disapparated?” He shifted from foot to foot. “Instead I get woken up by these two who say Newt’s in trouble and Tina’s hurt and can I watch out for Newt’s animals because you might be busy for the next few days because you’re gonna be getting Newt back.” Jacob glanced at Percy. “I know you and him are roommates and all, but you shoulda told me. He’s my friend. too.”

Albus cleared his throat and Theseus snorted. If any other wizard were in the room, they’d bristle at the idea of being chastised by a no-maj. But Percy was suddenly tired of walls and divisions, and he nodded. “I’m sorry, Jacob. You’re right, I should have told you.”

Clearly not expecting anything like an apology, Jacob shrugged uncomfortably and then shifted to the other foot. “I— Yeah, thanks. I shouldn’t have— I know you’re worried and all and I shoulda—” He took a step into the room; Pickett chirped. “So, yeah, I took a head count of all the animals. They seem okay. I can’t find Dougal but Newt says he’s really fond of you so I guess he’s somewhere up here?” Jacob glanced around the kitchen. “I can stay all day and tomorrow, if you need me to. Queenie can help if it’s okay with you. She likes it down there. She says it’s peaceful. If that’s all right.”

Dazed by the spate of questions and statements, Percy could only say, “Of course it’s all right. I appreciate it.”

Jacob nodded once more, then bobbed his head at Albus and Theseus. “I’ll be off now. Gotta check on that crazy erumpent.” He left, saying over his shoulder, “That’s a good stove you got there.”

“Well,” Albus said as soon as they were alone. “Now we know why he and Newt are such fond friends.”

“They’re exactly alike,” Thee answered with a shake of his head. “Who would have thought.”

“And on that note,” Albus got to his feet and apparated the tea things away.

“Yes,” Percy murmured as he took a last sip of coffee and then stood up, too. He waved his hand and was cleaned and dressed in seconds. “How are we getting there?”

“Seraphina gave us permission to apparate to the infirmary,” Theseus said. “If you’re ready?”

Percy touched the portkey, safe in its pouch, and then looked around. Dougal was nowhere to be seen, but he was a shy creature—he was probably hiding from Albus and Theseus. “Right,” he said. “Let’s be off.”

***

They arrived at the infirmary just in time for a minor fracas.

“And I say I’m fine.”

“According to the doctor you need at least another day’s bed rest. You had a concussion after all.”

Percy turned to Albus and Theseus. “You two stay here. I’ll be right back.” He went inside the clinic. The beds were empty except for the one right in front. It was surrounded by a curtain but Percy recognized both voices.

“‘Possible concussion,’” Tina answered. “It was ‘possible’ and the doctor told me I could leave. She was very specific about it.”

“Is there anything the matter?” Percy said, rounding the curtain. Tina was fully dressed, complete with hat and coat, and was sitting on the side of the bed.

“Director Graves,” Tina said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I was just explaining to the nurse that I’m fine and can be discharged.”

“And I was saying,” the nurse said with a sniff, just like from the books Dindrane once read to him, “the doctor told me to use my judgment and it’s my judgment that the patient hasn’t had enough rest.”

Percy smiled, trying for charm and not intimidation. “It’s Nurse Hephzibah, yes?”

The nurse didn’t unbend but she did flush. “It is.”

“Hephzibah, I appreciate your concern but I’m quite sure the doctor will have no problem if Miss Goldstein returns to work. It’s been almost a day already, yes?”

“It is.”

“Then, I need her—she’s a valuable member of my team.”

The nurse hesitated, then nodded grudgingly. “All right, but…” She turned to Tina. “The minute you feel dizzy or whipsy-woozy, I want you back here on the double.”

Tina nodded fervently. “I promise.”

The nurse made another face and marched away.

“Director Graves,” Tina breathed as she popped up off the bed. “I need to talk to you.”

“So I’ve heard.” Percy gestured and led her to the hall.

She started when she saw Albus and Thee but only said, “Did they tell you?”

“They told me enough but we can’t talk here,” Percy murmured. “Theseus? Do you know where your brother’s office is?”

Thee nodded. “In the basement.”

He crooked an elbow, saying, “You take Albus. I’ll take Goldstein.”

Tina’s eyes widened but she said nothing as she took Percy’s arm. Watching through the round glass window, however, Nurse Hephzibah frowned and then glared as Percy disapparated out.

***

“One more,” Percy said, waving a hand towards the door and walls as he cast a secondary, modified _muffliato_ spell. The locks and gaps in the door hissed and glowed blue. “It’s done.” He turned to find that his small band had gathered around the desk, leaving Newt’s chair for him.

Telling himself it wasn’t wrong, that he wasn’t usurping Newt in any way, he sat down. “So,” he said, moving a compass out of the way. “We find ourselves in a situation.” He looked at Tina. “Auror Scamander told you what happened, yes?”

Tina nodded. “Newt—” She blinked. “That is, Magizoologist Scamander, did something incredibly foolish and ported himself to parts unknown. In an effort to find him, you enlisted the aid of two friends. You interviewed Gellert Grindelwald in the hopes that he might let something slip about Magizoologist Scamander but instead, he intimated that he has knowledge of what’s going on in the outside world.”

Percy was smiling by the time she’d finished. “Very concise. And lets dispense with the formalities—’Magizoologist Scamander’ is a mouthful.”

Tina nodded, then sat forward, her hands clenched together. “And that brings me to my part in this story. I think I know why Grindelwald’s followers are focusing on that particular part of the water system.”

“And that is?”

“Because of what else it runs under.” She scooted closer. “See, when the city commissioned the new water ways back in the 1880s, they created too many tunnels. Apparently, their head engineer had a scam running with the company that provided the concrete. So, many of these tunnels are blocked off but still intact. Because of the proximity to MACUASA, we assumed Grindelwald’s people were trying to find the one that runs directly under our building so they could rescue their master.” She shook her head. “But that assumption always bothered me.”

“Why?” Percy and Albus said at the same time.

Tina turned to Albus. “Because it’s so stupid.” She looked at all the men. “I mean, I wasn’t there so I really don’t know, but from all the stories, Grindelwald is supposed to be extremely cunning and very patient to the point that he will wait years to put a scheme into motion.”

Albus took out his pocket watch and glanced at it. “That’s very true. He also allows for every contingency, if possible.”

“Right. So why would someone so clever do something we expected and planned for all along?” Tina asked them all. “I think the answer was that he wouldn’t because he didn’t. It might have been meant as a ruse, but I think he mostly chose that tunnel because he had no other option.”

Theseus leaned forwards. “I suppose you’re going to tell us that they have another goal in mind.”

Tina nodded quickly. “Yes, they do. I believe their ultimate destination lies above a section of the same unused tunnel.” She dug in her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper and unfolded it. “Between shift changes in the infirmary, I apparated down to the map room and—” She glanced up at Percy and said, her voice small, “Sorry, sir.”

Percy waved her apology away. “It’s all right, Goldstein. Please continue.”

“Anyway,” Tina said, getting up to spread the paper on the desk. “I didn’t have much time, so I copied what I could. See…?”

They all got to their feet so they could peer down at the paper.

It was a crude, ink-drawn map of the upper part of the city showing several long lines that had to be the water systems coming from the mountains. At one point, Tina had connected two of the lines and drawn in a third that led all the way down to the area just east of MACUSA.

Percy turned the map around and bent closer. “Is that…”

“It is,” Tina nodded.

“What is it?” Albus murmured. “What do you see?”

Percy pointed to Tina’s mark. “This point here is the site of the incident last year. It was the Church of the Second Salemers, the anti-witch group.” He looked up. “And the home of Credence Barebone.”

Thee’s face grew grim. “The obscurial. They’re trying to find it.”

Percy was silent for a moment. The air in the basement was too close—how did Newt stand it? “What makes you think that?”

She twisted her lips in a grimace. “Last year as part of my wrap up of the incident, we visited the orphanage where Mrs. Barebone had gotten all her children.”

“Who is ‘we’?” Percy asked.

Tina’s gaze flickered to the desk and then back at Percy. “Newt and I. He insisted on coming.”

Percy nodded calmly, though he was feeling anything but calm—he should have known… “Go on.”

“Anyway, we asked to see little Modesty Barebone, but the administrator said she never returned. We already knew that her body wasn’t among the wreckage of the church so we figured that it had been disintegrated. The blast was so extreme and she was so small…” Tina glanced down and shrugged. “Maybe it was the concussion or maybe it was because I finally had time to think, but when I came to yesterday, I just _knew_.” Again, she looked up at Percy, her expression frightened but determined. “I believe the girl and whatever is left of Credence are both living in the church. I believe Grindelwald suspects this and that’s why his followers are trying to get into the old tunnel. Not to rescue _him_ but to capture Credence.”

In the silence Percy could hear the furnace rumble and the water pipes bang. He’d asked maintenance to take care of them a month ago because he hadn’t wanted Newt to be bothered by the noise. Apparently they’d been too busy. “That was why the witches all carried jewelry,” he mused, thinking on oddities that were actually patterns. “We assumed the items were in case they were caught somewhere and needed to pawn them. But that wasn’t it at all—the jewels were enticements for a young girl. For Modesty Barebone.”

Tina gasped. Albus nodded and slowly sat down.

“It fits,” Thee said, sitting as well. “It all fits, which means you do have a leaky ship, Graves.”

Tina raised an eyebrow and Percy explained, “No one other than a select few new about the possibility of the obscurial’s survival. If Grindelwald’s followers know this, that means someone within our walls is a traitor.” His head was starting to hurt; maybe he was coming down with something.

Tina sat with a thump.

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Albus said as he got out his pocket watch once more. “How old is the girl?”

“Modesty?” Tina said. “No more than twelve or thirteen, I would think. She must be so scared.”

“We’ll start a search immediately,” Percy said reviewing the drawing again. “I suppose we don’t need to wonder what they were going to do to her.”

“Threaten, torture and quite possibly murder,” Thee said quietly. “Their actions are increasingly desperate.”

Percy almost smiled. “Newt said something like that to me the other day.” He glanced at the others. Tina was gazing at him, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Thee was stroking his mustache and Albus was glancing at his watch again. “Albus, for the love of—”

Percy broke off and touched his temple. Like a sudden storm, the air had become heavy and hushed. He shook his head, trying to ease the pressure on his temples and then realized what it meant, the shift, the closeness of the air. “Albus? What is it?”

Tina frowned in confusion but Albus just put the watch away and then crossed his legs, his expression smoothing out to one of bland calm. “Yes. I had one last thing to tell you. I wanted to wait until we were alone but it’s too late for that.”

Percy frowned. If possible, the pressure was worse and he felt as if he were choking. “What have you done, Al—”

“It’s about what’s been going on here,” Albus evenly. “It’s about what you should have done months ago. You should have called her in as soon as you captured Gellert. You should have called her in after _you_ were rescued. I didn’t say anything because it wasn’t my place and neither you nor Seraphina would have listened, anyway. But now Newton is gone and your obscurial might be alive and Gellert is planning something, or did you foolishly mistake his comment about the longevity of his confinement as simple bluster?”

Unsure where to start first, Percy straightened up and got out his wand. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. What—” With a series of whines and then hisses, the wards on the door began to give. He raised his wand. “Albus?”

The door creaked and bowed, the center expanding as if an incredibly large hand was forcing it open.

Percy backed up. “Tina!” he barked. “Get—”

He never finished his sentence. With another creak, this one softer but no less sharp, the lock gave way and the door slammed back and hit the wall.

Arms up, a half dozen spells and charms on his lips, it took Percy a heartbeat to see what he was seeing, just a small, dark-haired woman in a black traveling cloak.

“Please close your mouth, Percival,” the woman said. “It’s exceedingly rude.”

Percy closed his mouth and lowered his arms. Giving Albus a scathing look, he nodded and answered with as much calm as he could muster, “Hello, Mother.” He tugged on his waistcoat. “You could have just knocked.”

***

In the ringing silence, it was Albus that spoke first. He rose and murmured, “Dandrenor,” as he kissed her hand. “It’s a pleasure as always. You’re looking well.”

Percy glared at Albus—he had no idea his mother and Albus knew each other. And it was more than just friendship if his mother’s smile was anything to go by.

“It’s good to see you, too, Albus. I understand Dippet is quite pleased with your current crop of students.” Percy’s mother turned to Theseus, her expression hardening. “Auror Scamander. I’m assuming you’re up to your usual nonsense.”

Theseus actually laughed. “Mrs. Graves,” he said, also bending over her hand. “Believe it or not, I’m actually glad to see you. We need you in the worst way.”

Percy transferred his glare to Theseus as his mother turned to Tina. “Mother,” he said, his voice tight with anger, “this is Auror Goldstein.”

“The one that was instrumental in finding my son,” his mother said, holding her hand out for Tina. “I am very pleased to meet you, my dear.”

Flustered, Tina shook his mother’s hand and then bobbed an awkward curtsey. “Ma’am.”

Finally, his mother turned to Percy. “Gentlemen…” She glanced at Tina. “And miss… I believe my son and I need to have a word alone.”

“May I suggest the rooftop gardens,” Albus said. “They’re very lovely at this time of the afternoon.”

Percy tightened his lips. How did Albus know the state of MACUSA’s gardens at _any_ time of day? But that was a conversation for another time—with a dark glance at Albus, he gave his mother his arm and disapparated them out.

***

It was a day of firsts, he thought as he guided his mother between the gardens to the nurseries at the far end of the roof. He’d never been up here before and his mother had never visited him at work.

“Albus was right—it is very pleasant,” she murmured, looking all around. “A little chilly, but pleasant.”

“The greenhouses will be warmer,” Percy nodded towards the closest one, examining his mother from the side of his eye. She had cut her hair. She’d always worn it in a wealth of braids or curls but now it was a chin-length cloud that floated about her dark face.

His mother waited until they were inside before speaking again. “ _Artemisia douglasiana,_ ” she murmured, touching the delicate leaves of a mugwort plant. “Do you remember how many times I tried to grow it at home? It always died, no matter what I did.”

“I don’t remember,” Percy said, even though he did.

“Greenhouses are so lovely, so peaceful. Do you visit here often?”

“Never, Mother.” Newt, however, had loved it up here. During his first week at MACUSA, he’d been forever inviting Percy up to meet the plants and take in the view. “I’m too busy.”

“You used to spend hours in the nurseries at Greyfield when you were a child.” She gave him a quick glance. “It’s important to remember that life isn’t just work, Percival. It’s the one thing your father and I have never forgotten.”

“Is that why you’re always on holiday?”

She didn’t blink an eye at Percy’s tone. “Many times it is.”

He stopped in his tracks. “Mother. Why are you here? Where’s father?”

“Your father is assisting your grandmother and your aunt. I am here to assist you. I know what’s going on.”

“‘Going on’ is a very broad term. You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“Very well, but outside. The scent of the _aconitum_ is making me nauseous.” His mother gestured to the door, then led him back outside to a stone bench shaped like a dragon. She sat down; Percy did not. “I know what happened to your magizoologist.”

Expecting anything but that, Percy stilled and then chose his next words very carefully, “And that means?”

“It means,” she said softly, “that I knew the minute Newton Scamander used the portkey because I felt your rage. I thought you had—” She shook her head and then clasped her hands together. “After conversing with Albus yesterday, I filled in the details, but I knew something had happened.”

“Mother,” Percy said very carefully, “are you spying on me?”

His mother answered his demand calmly and coolly, “Of course not. You know I avoid familial divinations unless there’s a reason.” And then her eyes dropped and a little frown appeared between her brows. “But Madam Picquery owled and I had to try.”

“Wait,” he said, finally realizing what it could possibly mean, her presence just at this time and he sat on the bench with a thump. “Did you see something? Is Newt dead?”

She took his hand. “No, Percy.”

“Are you sure?”

She frowned again. “Of course, I am.”

He wanted to sigh. “But you _have_ seen him?”

“I believe so. I’ve had several dreams about him. I also borrowed your aunt’s glass but it’s a tricky thing, the Mirror of Ygraine, and I couldn’t be sure.”

Tense once more, Percy asked, “What did you see?”

“White,” his mother said. “Just white. It was as if he were in a room of clouds with no boundaries or form.”

Tugging free, he rubbed his jaw. The sun was setting behind a line of clouds and it had gotten cold. It was probably going to snow again. “I don’t understand. How did you even find him? You have nothing of his, nothing to read from.” He gave her a sideways glare. “Or do you?”

“Albus Dumbledore owled me one of Newton’s neckties. I believe he got it from Auror Scamander. It was old and faded, but it was of some small assistance.”

Once more trying to parse his anger, Percy said, “And you’re here to help find him?”

“Yes, and to help you with your other problems.”

“Grindelwald and the obscurial?” he chanced, not surprised his mother knew. MACUSA, it appeared, was a sieve when it came to information. Or maybe it was just that blabbermouth, Thee.

His mother nodded. “That too. There’s something happening, Percy. We’ve all felt and seen it. Isaiah Parris won’t leave his room and spends all his time before his glass. Your aunt had to take to her bed for several days running. She’s better now, but still weak.” She reached for his hand again and squeezed hard. “Something is happening.”

By the time his mother had finished speaking, the hair on the nape of Percy’s neck was standing on end. He barely remembered old man Parris, but his aunt was more skilled than his mother. If she had become ill after a vision, then something was truly wrong.

“This isn’t news to you,” his mother said.

“Not as such,” he answered absently. “I’ve felt off balance for months only I thought it was work and Grindelwald. The only time I felt right was when I went to—” He broke off, remembering why he couldn’t mention his trip to England and the results thereof. “Our own diviners have been monitoring the situation. They haven’t discovered anything new.”

“Your diviners are headed by a man who should never have been given the keys to MACUSA’s orb vault.”

A surprising bitterness colored Percy’s voice when he answered, “Then maybe you should have taken the job when they offered it.” He’d forgotten how angry he’d been when his mother had said no after MACUSA had made their proposal—he could feel the echo of that same anger now.

“You know I couldn’t have,” his mother said.

He nodded. “I know.” _Because even after all those years, you couldn’t be in the same room with me._

His mother peered at him and then patted his hand. “Come. I’m tired and need a rest.” She got to her feet, groaning very softly under her breath as she reached around and pressed her hand to her lower back.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I never floo well—you know that, too.”

He did; he also knew that his mother had just lied. But it didn’t matter—if she didn’t want to divulge a secret, nothing on earth could make her; it was why she was so valued as a soothsayer. Thinking of secrets and half-truths, he once again gave her his arm. “Are you at the Aberdeen?”

“No,” she said. “I thought I’d stay with you.”

He just nodded. “My apartment isn’t big but I can take the sofa.” It had been a week or so since he’d last been in the place. He was fairly certain he had food in the refrigerator and clean sheets. “I’ll go to the market in the morning.”

His mother edged around an empty jardinière. “I was referring to your home, Percy, not your apartment on 58th Street. Albus tells me you have two guest rooms.”

Tongue-tied, his face burning, Percy held back the branch of a miniature elder tree so his mother could pass by. When she was clear, he said, mostly to the stone pavement, “Albus is wrong.”

His mother stopped and turned to look up at him. “So you’re not sharing the Warren Street apartment with Magizoologist Scamander?”

Percy froze.

It was so quiet here on this rooftop. Percy could hear the distant mechanical purr of the streetcars and trains. It was almost five—soon no-maj’s of every variety would be leaving work to go home and the din would be unbearable.

“Percy?”

What was wrong with him? He was frozen as if his mother had caught him stealing. He was a grown man, not a child, but he couldn’t speak, the urge to be honest for once in his life fighting with the familiar, all consuming need to hide.

His mother put her hand on his arm, her tone no longer soft but hard like iron, “Percival.”

“Mother…” he started but couldn’t finish.

His mother watched him for a moment and then sighed, a long-drawn out breath as if it were coming from the bottom of her soul. “Your father is right—I should have dealt with this long ago.”

Percy looked up.

“I know what I did to you, son. I know how hard I was on you. When I first saw the vision, that of you and—” She broke off and shrugged. “I thought if I presented you with different choices and opportunities, I’d nip it in the bud.” Her grip changed, as iron as her voice had just been. “But I wasn’t successful and so I went the easy route and ignored it, as if that would do anything. And then you were abducted and my guilt took a new route.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mother,” Percy said, his throat dry as paper, his face still hot no matter how cold it had become.

“Yes, you do, Percy. You know quite well of what I speak.”

It had started to snow and the flakes caught in his mother’s hair, the light mixing with the dark.

“Your ordeal—or the aftermath, rather—taught me many things about myself, Percy, and I realized two things: one, that Dindrane’s death almost destroyed me; yours would complete the task.”

He’d never heard her speak this way before. “And the other?”

His mother almost blanched. “That I was too hard on you. I wanted you to live your life as I had lived mine. I imagine it’s every parent’s wish, but even so…” Her grip relaxed and she slipped her hand in his. “From the age of ten, I’ve spent my life looking into the future. Hindsight, or so I had always thought, was for the weak, for those who made poor decisions. Because of that, I was blind to the many important things, such as your sister’s death and what it did to you. What _I_ did to you because of it, and…” She glanced down. “And what it meant, the vision of you with your magizoologist. After the sixth divination, I should have just accepted the truth.”

Percy swallowed and it hurt. He wanted so to be done with this painful moment, but he recognized the olive branch for what it was and he was able to mutter, “I thought you’d never speak to me again.”

His mother’s eyes were dry but she looked as if she wanted to weep. “I know, and that’s the thing that has been weighing on my soul. I could have made this discovery easier on you and I didn’t.”

It would be so easy to be angry. Growing up in a world of no-maj’s, he had always known he was different. But to be different in the world of people who were different meant something else entirely. He wasn’t sure if he would have accepted his mother’s concern, but it might have helped, not feeling so alone. “If that’s true, why wait so long? I’ve been here this whole time. I was in the hospital for weeks—you could have come then.”

His mother frowned and then squeezed his hand. “But I did, sweetheart. As soon as they recovered you, I floo’d in from Paris. Your father and grandmother were there, too. Unlike your grandmother, I have no healing touch but I am your mother and I stayed with you. I could at least do that.”

He peered at her, searching for any dissemblance and saw only honest dismay and confusion. “I don’t remember.”

His mother said nothing for a long moment and then she sighed. “It’s clear we still have much to talk about but it will have to wait. For what’s to come, I’ll need your assistance while I work to find Newton, but I’ll need all of you, Percy, not just the part you feel comfortable sharing.”

Percy frowned. On a twisting path of revelation, he felt exposed and more than happy _not_ to talk about his relationship with Newt, but… “I’ve never been any good at divination; you know that.”

“You were incredibly gifted when you were a boy.” His mother reached up and pressed her cold palm against his cheek, giving him a keen examination. “When you got older, you put away childish things, as the no-maj saying goes. I need you to find and accept that part of yourself again.”

As much as she was measuring him, he measured her words. “And if I can’t?”

“Then you can’t. Life isn’t all or nothing, Percy. Neither are our gifts—they’re the ebb and flow of our lives.” Gently, she pinched his cheek. “It’s cold. Let’s get to your home and you can show me around. I’m quite curious to see that suitcase.”

Feeling as if the world had tipped and then righted beneath his boots within the space of a few minutes, Percy got out his portkey and said, “Hold on.”

***

Claiming work-related duties, Percy quickly showed his mother to the suitcase and settled her in one of the guest rooms, then returned to MACUSA. He wasn’t evading his mother, he assured himself as he apparated into an alley near the building. He just needed a moment to reflect and review.

He had time for neither. As soon as he arrived at MACUSA, he was called into a meeting with Seraphina and Albus. He related his mother’s news and then Tina’s. With Albus’s endorsement, he convinced Seraphina that an investigation of the New Salem Church was in order. After, with Albus and Tina in tow, he gathered his small band in his office and planned the next steps. By nine, tired and on edge, Percy said goodbye to Albus and Tina, gave Thee a hug and a whispered, “I’ll let you know when we’ve got something,” and then returned home.

***

Wondering if Newt’s small amount of adder’s tongue would be enough or if it was too late to find some _potentilla reptans,_ Percy found quite a to-do down in the suitcase house. Newt’s niffler had gotten hold of Jacob’s pocket watch and was running all about with Jacob chasing after. Queenie was right behind, offering advice while trying not to laugh. The pursuit ended when the niffler made a wrong turn and ran right into Percy. Jacob skidded to a stop and so did Queenie. Percy raised his hand, raising the niffler, as well.

“Director Graves,” Queenie began even as Jacob blurted out, “Sorry Mr. Graves. He got it again.”

Percy took the niffler by the hind legs and turned it upside down. Out came the pocket watch and an ornate gold and ruby ring. Percy picked it up. “Perhaps if you leave your watch upstairs, Jacob, the niffler won’t be tempted.” The niffler smirked as Percy held the ring up. “Whose is this?”

“Mine,” came a voice from the door.

He turned to find his mother coming into the kitchen. She’d changed into a loose robe and slippers. He gave her the ring. “I’m sorry, Mother. Newt can’t seem to do anything with him.”

“The ring was your father’s great-grandmother’s.” She put it in her pocket and then said to the niffler, “Creature, you and I must come to an understanding.” The niffler lost his smirk. “While I am in this suitcase, you will leave my personal effects alone or you will suffer the consequences. I am not Newton Scamander.”

She hadn’t raised her voice but by the time she’d finished speaking, Queenie’s eyes were wide, Jacob’s face was red, and the niffler had crawled up Percy’s arm to cower against Percy’s chest. Percy couldn’t blame them—he remembered his mother catching him smoking behind the old dovecote when he was seventeen; she hadn’t raised her voice then, either. “Mother…”

His mother ignored him. “Do we have an understanding?”

The niffler nodded and Jacob said, “I’ll take him. I have to check on the mooncalves anyway.”

Percy handed the niffler over with one last word of caution, “And the pocket watch?”

Jacob flashed Percy and his mother a nervous grin. “I don’t think it will be a problem anymore but, yeah, I’ll leave it at home from now on.”

Jacob scurried from the room. Queenie smiled anxiously and followed.

“Well,” Percy’s mother said, going to the stove to pour two cups of coffee. “Is it always so chaotic down here?”

Percy sat down at the table. “I wouldn’t call it chaotic,” he said as the erumpent trumpeted in the distance. “It’s definitely a different household.”

“Hm,” His mother gave him a cup of coffee, then sat down on the other side of the table. “I chatted with Queenie; she’s a very likeable girl.”

“Jacob is courting her,” Percy said absently.

“Percy.”

Percy looked up. Sans heavy coat, he could see that his mother had lost weight and her eyes were shadowed. “Sorry. Old habits and all that.”

“So I assume.”

He hesitated, wondering if he should step into the swamp that was his relationship with Newt and decided to go the coward’s route. “It’s not too late—are you sure you’re up to this?”

“I’m fine, Percival.” She curled her hands around the coffee cup but didn’t drink. “Are the others in position?”

“Yes. Tina is waiting at the church in case the obscurus shows up and Albus is waiting with Theseus at MACUSA in case Grindelwald makes a move.”

“Did you get the dragonwort?”

“I did,” Percy said. “Newt also has a spoonful of adder’s tongue and _bistorta_ , but no vervaine.”

“How can one have a proper pharmacopia if one doesn’t have vervaine?”

“I don’t know, Mother. I’ll ask him when he gets back.”

His mother nodded but didn’t reply.

“Mother?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been thinking… You mentioned knowing when Newt left—did you know about Grindelwald? When he abducted me?” It had occurred to him while porting her luggage from MACUSA, the notion that his mother had witnessed his torture.

“I did.”

He tightened his lips; it was one thing to have experienced the degradation, a completely other to have had a witness. “Did you know what he was doing to me?”

Her expression didn’t change but she shuddered. “Only a trace, thank Minerva. With your aunt and grandmother standing by, I hunted for you. But the monster set his traps too cleverly. He led us on a merry chase before we realized what was what. I found you but by then it was too late.”

As if he were there, he saw what happened, the searching and calling of his name, only to find him ensorcelled, imprisoned, and in pain. When he spoke next, his voice was low and rough, “What did he do to you?”

“He trapped me within my own mind. I went round and round in the hollow of my very self until I found the key.”

“What was it? The key?”

His mother smiled softly. “Your father. With your aunt’s assistance He retrieved me and brought me back. When I regained my faculties, I found that my powers had scattered to the four winds. It took months for them to reconverge.”

Percy sat back, thinking of that. Before, he would have no point of reference or true understanding because he’d had no similar key. Now, however… “That’s why you and Father have been out of the country so much. Because you were still recovering.” He should have known. His mother was many things but frivolous wasn’t one of them.

“That, and because I was trying to distract your father. He had a plan all worked out how he was going to enlist the twelve families and storm MACUSA and kill Mr. Grindelwald. I finally convinced him that Grindelwald was waiting for such an occurrence and would take advantage of the situation and escape.”

“You saw this? That Grindelwald will escape?”

“No,” his mother said with a quick smile and a wrinkle of her nose. “I made it up. Your father can be very stubborn, a trait that you’ve embraced all too willingly.” Her smiled died. “Revenge is pointless, Percy. You know that.”

He frowned, remembering the not so distant past when he’d been so lost to himself that revenge wasn’t even a solid concept.

“However, Gellert will escape; you know this, yes?”

He nodded. “We do. We’ve made preparations, but at the end of the day…” He shrugged and took another sip of coffee.

“When he gets out, we’ll make do as we always have.”

It had been less than two days since Newt had left but now it seemed like forever. Like Theseus, Percy was suddenly very glad for his mother’s presence, for her intelligence and rational mind. It was the first time in ages he’d felt that way and he reached across the table and touched the back of her hand. “Thank you for coming, Mother.”

She frowned and smiled at the same time and this time when she said his name, it was in a completely different tone, “Percy.”

Giving it another moment, Percy drew back and stood up. He straightened his waistcoat. “Do you need anything?”

“Other than you and Queenie, no,” his mother said, glancing at the dark sky outside. “I’m ready.”

***

When Percy escorted Queenie—and by extension, Jacob—into the parlor, his mother was waiting on the sofa. On the low table in front of her was the cloth-covered divination glass.

“Percy,” his mother said, “you will sit on my right. Miss Goldstein, please take the love seat and you Mr. Kowals—”

“I’m staying,” Jacob interrupted, bouncing on his toes. “I’m not leaving Queenie here to—” He gestured vaguely and shifted nervously.

Percy’s mother smiled. “I was merely going to suggest you sit on the chair opposite, Mr. Kowalski.”

Jacob nodded several times and sat on the brocade wingback. “Sorry. I just never been to a séance before and I’m sorta…” He nodded again.

“It’s not a séance,” Percy said, picturing what Jacob was picturing. “It’s a divination; we won’t be seeking the dead.” His mother raised an eyebrow and Queenie cleared her throat. So, yes, there were ways of talking with the dead but Jacob was nervous and Percy wasn’t about to frighten him further. Newt would never forgive him. “We’re simply looking for Newt.”

“My mother will do most of the work,” Percy continued. “She requested that Queenie monitor the session.” At Jacob’s look of confusion, he added, “Sometimes in a divination, it’s hard to interpret what one is seeing. My mother is hoping that Queenie might be able to use her legillimen skills to see the details that we might miss.” He looked down at his own hands. “Apparently she searched for me back in November during my abduction. When she did so, she found that Grindelwald had laid a trap for that very thing and she got caught. I’d prefer for that not to happen, and as we don’t know the purpose of the portkeys, we could be walking into a similar situation.”

Jacob raised an eyebrow and glanced at them all, one after the other. “Are you talking about a real trap? Like your ma got her foot caught or something?”

Queenie wrinkled her nose and smiled. Percy shook his head. “No,” he said. “It’s a mental trap, which is actually worse.”

Jacob shrugged. “Okay. So, yeah, if that happens, what are you gonna do?”

Percy’s mother answered first, “Queenie will break contact immediately so she won’t be drawn in further.”

Jacob’s eyebrow raised even more. “You expect her to just ditch you? She would never do that.”

“I do and she must. If we are snared, it’s important for Queenie to get away as quick as possible.”

“Because?”

This time it was Percy that answered, “Because it’s possible Queenie’s powers will be used against us. She will be very vulnerable in that state.” He leaned forward. “When you’re in the middle of a divination it’s like you’re walking in a fog. You’re not sure if the ground you’re on is firm or even there. It doesn’t help that your mind is completely open to whatever is waiting. Because Queenie will be linked to my mother, she will face the same danger.”

Jacob’s mouth had dropped open. He closed it with a snap. “You talk like you’ve done this before. The walking in fog thing, I mean.”

Percy shrugged. “Yes, but it was a long time ago. I lost the power when I grew up.”

“Oh,” Queenie said, speaking for the first time. “That’s sad.”

Percy didn’t know whether to smile or frown so he did neither. “It is what it is.”

“And Newt’s in that fog?” Jacob said.

“We’re not sure. My mother looked into her glass while she was in Paris and all she saw was that Newt seems to be in a place that’s all white.”

“Okay.” Jacob nodded several times. “Okay, but that could be anywhere. It could be nowhere, right?”

“Unfortunately, yes. He could be in the Arctic, he could be in the Alps. He could even be asleep across town. We just don’t know.”

“Well,” Jacob said, “if that’s all you know, maybe you should wait and see what happens tomorrow?”

Queenie made a small sound and Percy shook his head. “That would be too dangerous. It’s not much to go on, but the longer we wait, the worse the situation might get. If Newt is in danger, if he’s hurt…” Percy sat back and cleared his throat as he banished the image of one of Grindelwald’s minions torturing Newt. “We can’t wait,” he added, hoping he wouldn’t have to explain further.

Luckily Queenie stepped in with a soft, “He’s right, sweetie. We can’t.” She tipped her head and smiling at Jacob. “It’ll be okay, you’ll see. Besides, with Teen and the others at the church, and Auror Scamander and the professor at the office making sure Grindelwald doesn’t try anything sneaky, we’ll be fine.” She glanced over at Percy.

Percy nodded and turned to his mother—she was sitting with her hands folded together, watching without speaking. It was a very familiar pose—she was preparing for the viewing.

“Hey, about that,” Jacob said. “Shouldn’t Queenie be back there so’s she can be reading Grindelwald’s mind with the professor? I mean, two heads are better than one, right?”

“No,” Queenie said, giving Percy another quick glance. “Director Graves needs a legilimens to be with his mother and besides, the professor is better than I ever will be.”

“Hey!” Jacob said, his voice rising once more.

Percy interrupted Jacob before he could get going, “It’s not a criticism, Jacob and it’s not because Queenie isn’t as good as the professor. She just has no gift for occlumency.” At Jacob’s look of confusion, he added, “That’s a way of barricading one’s mind and Grindelwald will attack through the mind. If he has any way of knowing what’s going on, he will lash out no matter how painful the counter spells are and I don’t want Queenie harmed.” He sat back, and glanced at Queenie, adding silently, _‘Besides, of all the legilimens at my disposal, I chose you to be with my mother.’_

“Oh,” Queenie murmured, her smiled blooming. “That’s nice.”

Jacob frowned in confusion as Percy replied, “It’s not nice—it’s logical.”

Queenie kept smiling though, and Jacob lost his glare.

“I guess if Queenie’s all right with it, I’m all right with it,” Jacob muttered. “What are you gonna be doing?”

“I’m going to be doing something I haven’t down in ages,” Percy said as he got to his feet. “I am going to assist my mother.”

Jacob said, “Huh?” even as Queenie said, “Ooh.”

Percy went to the sideboard and poured three glasses of water. “Jacob? Can you—” He held up a glass.

Jacob popped up and hurried over. “What’s this for?”

“Queenie. Divinations can be thirty work and I’m assuming that goes for observers, too.” He set the glasses on the table next to the orb and took a seat.

Jacob followed Percy’s example, putting the glass down by Queenie. “Hey, just so’s you know, if I’m in the way, I can…” He jerked his thumb towards the kitchen.

“It’s okay, Jacob, you won’t be in the way,” Percy said, not adding that Jacob’s presence wouldn’t make much difference. If things went the way he thought they would, nothing any of them did, would.

***

“Are all of you ready?” Percy’s mother asked. Percy and Queenie nodded and Jacob shrugged nervously. “Don’t worry, Mr. Kowalski,” she said with a smile as she removed the cloth, “you just need to sit and watch.”

“Is that a crystal ball?” Jacob whispered.

Percy’s mother nodded. “It’s a orbuculum. But in modern parlance, yes, it’s a crystal ball.”

“Hey,” Jacob said, “you can’t tell me where I lost my good bread pan, can you?”

Percy snorted and his mother smiled. “Probably not.” She smoothed the skirt of her robe and Percy realized she was nervous. Distance and age brought many things, namely understanding, and it came to him that she had probably always been nervous. Divinations were no walk in the park, no matter how benign the seeking. It made his stomach ache that she’d been nervous all those times and he took her hand. “We’re right here.”

She squeezed his hand, then released it and nodded. Bending over, she cupped the orb loosely. It flashed and then flashed again when she murmured her standard phrase, “Then let me see.”

***

Twenty-nine years, give or take. That was the span of time that Percy had last attempted anything like this. Twenty-nine years, he found, was a very long time because it wasn’t working. He waded shallowly in the vision and he could feel the familiar tug but that was all. When he followed it, it scurried away; when he called out, ‘ _Newt!’_ the fog shuddered and rippled but revealed nothing. Even when he lunged, hands out to grasp, it ignored him as if it were smoke in a wind-filled room.

It was no use; he was alone in the nothing and it wasn’t going to work. He was out of practice. He was too old and maybe he truly—

_Stop._

—didn’t want to see anyway, because he could feel—

_Stop!_

—the white laughing at him, mocking like Grin—

Something hit his cheek even as a voice said sharply, “Percy! Stop!”

Percy opened his eyes. He was hunched over, arms wrapped around his stomach. He was sweating and he touched his forehead in surprise.

“Are you in pain?” his mother asked.

He shook his head. His face stung slightly where his mother had slapped him. He straightened up. They were all staring at him—his mother with a cool assessment, Jacob and Queenie with shock.

“It’s not working,” his mother said.

Percy squeezed his eyes shut. He knew it.

“Is it the room?” Jacob asked. “Aren’t we supposed to be sitting around the table in the dark and holding hands?”

“The room is fine, Mr. Kowalsky,” his mother said. “And hand holding is not required.

He knew it wasn’t going to work. Divination were chancy, sometimes pointless things; he remembered saying that very thing to someone not so long ago though he couldn’t remember who or when.

Queenie spoke next, saying hesitantly, “Maybe the room is too full of magic. Maybe a no-maj place would be better?”

“The room is fine,” Percy’s mother repeated. “It’s a very…” She hesitated, then ended with, “…Newtish space.”

“It’s me,” Percy muttered, finally opening his eyes. “I’m blocking you.”

His mother lifted one shoulder. “You are.”

“I knew this wasn’t going to work. I should have followed him the minu—”

He started to get up but his mother took his arm. “Sit down.”

Percy dropped back down and put his head in his hands. His head was aching and his sweat had cooled—now he was cold, almost chilled.

“Percival?” his mother asked.

“Yes?” he muttered.

“Do you remember when you were seven and three-quarters and you asked me what I saw when I looked into my glass. Do you remember what I said?”

“No.”

“Percy,” his mother chided.

He scrubbed his face. Jacob was still staring with wide, scared eyes. “You said you were watching the white wave.”

His mother took his hand. “And when you were eight and a half and you wanted to help when Verity Trueheart’s son disappeared, what did I tell you to do?”

He frowned. It was so long ago and he had been a different person. “I think you said that when I saw the wave, I couldn’t chase it. I had to wait and be patient because it would—”

“‘Come to you,’” his mother interrupted gently but firmly. “You’re trying too hard. This means too much to you and you’re trying to hard.”

“Maybe I’m just not good enough, Mother.”

She leaned toward him. “You will never have the strength your aunt or I have but you’re more than good enough. If you wanted, you could have sat on the council. But you wanted to help people. You wanted to protect them. Do you remember?”

“No,” he said, a not-quite lie. He couldn’t remember the feeling, though he remembered the incident, the day he’d marched up to his parents when he was twenty and said, _‘I want to be an Auror_.’ He used to be so sure of himself, so sure of his path and what he wanted from life.

“Percy,” his mother said, shaking his hand as if he was a child. “You experienced something that few of our kind have. You _survived_ it. It taught you to shield yourself and though your Newton has helped, you’re still like a firesnail, all curled within your own soul, burning anyone who gets too close.”

He looked over at his mother.

She smiled at him. “You can do this. You just have to let go of who you think you are and be who you really are. The world around ours will find you again.”

He nodded again, this time muttering, “All right.”

Surprisingly, she pushed the orb a little to the right. When Percy raised an eyebrow, she nodded. “I think after all this time, you should be the one to lead us in.”

He hesitated, then after another sedate nod from his mother, he pulled free. He tugged on his waistcoat and faced the orb. It didn’t respond. Taking a shallow breath, he leaned forward and cupped his hands around the glass. This time it answered, glowing softly and radiating a dull heat. He took another breath, this one deep and clear, and murmured, “Then, let me see.”

***

It was so easy. Stepping through the doorway from the solid world to the indefinite and infinite was so easy. He went a few steps and then a few steps more, the world about gelling into a void of white. He could sense two spirits, one behind him, the other to the left. It was his mother and Queenie, both solid bulwarks against the anxiousness that was mak—

 _Ssshhh…_ he heard, a soft whisper like the hush of a palm against a palm. Movement to the right drew his eye and he turned to it. It was there and not there, his white wave, transparent and without form. It waited and he didn’t move. It shuddered and reshaped but stayed there, just on the boundaries of his sight. Another heart stopping moment and then it shivered and spread, a signal. Percy held his had out. ‘ _Come.’_

The white came, rushing forward, forming a broad, tall wave that crashed over him and settled about his knees. Swirling and playing, it explored him, his legs, his torso, his shoulders and head. He let it have its way for a brief moment, then said, ‘ _Show me Newt.’_ The eddies lowered and then curled and parted, drawing him forward. He resisted, the waking part of him remembering his mother’s instruction from long ago: ‘ _It will tease and taunt, but be firm, be resolute. Think of the person or the thing you’re seeking and it will obey you.’_

So he stilled and dropped his hands to his side and ordered, ‘ _Show me Newton Artemis Fido Scamander, Order of Merlin, Second Class.’_

The white stilled as well, stilled and then trembled. Shivering once again, it burst into tendrils of twisting fog, revealing a wall of ice and then an endless fen of white. The fen gave way to blocks of grey and then a shaft of gold. Unveiling from the ground up, the vision quickly formed until Percy realized he was looking at the frame of a brass bed. He was looking at the frame of the bed and then a mattress and a bit of fabric. No, it wasn’t a bit of fabric, but a hand, freckled and lax, curved over the edge of a flowery comforter.

 _‘Newt?’_ he said, reaching out only to have the vision disappear and reform, the white scattering as the metal twisted and slid, losing color as its base elements slithered on the ground to congeal into another form. It shuddered and shifted as if fighting itself, and then raised its head. It was a snake, large and smiling. It stared at Percy and then laughed, showing its long fangs even as it lunged, its forked tongue now a dark, slim wand that—

With a startled cry, Percy fell from the vision, falling back onto the sofa. He was panting and sweating again, his shirt drenched. “Mother?”

His mother had collapsed on her side, Queenie, too. Jacob was trying to help them both.

“What happened?” Jacob said, hurrying over to Percy’s mother. “What happened?”

“Mother?” Percy asked again, sitting up. “Are you all right?”

His mother moaned and then, with Percy’s and Jacob’s help, straightened up. “The same,” she whispered, covering her eyes for a brief moment. “It was just the same.”

“What do you mean? Are you all right?” he asked.

“May I have some water?” she said.

“Me, too,” Queenie said, her fingers pressed to her temple.

“I’ll get it,” Jacob said, running from the room.

Percy looked around to find that the table was now across the room. The glasses were all toppled over and the orb was on the floor. It had cracked, just a small fissure that pointed to its crystal heart.

Jacob came back, two small glasses clutched in his hands. He gave one to Queenie and the other to Percy’s mother.

Percy waited until his mother had finished, then took the glass from her. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I’m fine.”

But she was still white and he could see the effort it took just to stay upright. He wrapped his arm around her waist. “You should lay down.”

“Here’s better. I’m not sure I can make it upstairs.”

“Mr. Graves?” Jacob said, reaching for the glass in Percy’s hand.

Percy gave Jacob the glass. “Why don’t you take Queenie out for some fresh air.”

Jacob nodded several times. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.” But he didn’t move. “I gotta know—what did you see? Did you find him?”

With a low groan, Queenie got to her feet and then took Jacob’s hand. She smiled, or tried to. “We found him.”

Jacob waited and then waved the glass, his face turning red. “That’s it? You found him? Where _is_ he?”

“He’s in the north,” Percy’s mother said. “My best guess is Norway or possibly Sweden. My mother in-law had an étagère that had that same distinctive scrollwork pattern.”

Queenie nodded. “That would be my guess, too. I saw an island that’s icy cold and lonely, and an inn by the name of _Sjøu-_ something or other.” She smiled. “I couldn’t read the whole thing.”

 _An island that’s icy cold and lonely and a village by the name of Sjøu-something or other,_ and _scrollwork patterns_. Percy hadn’t seen anything of sort. He’d just seen Newt and then th—

“All right,” Jacob said, still eye them all. “So let’s go get him!” When no one answered, Jacob dropped his arms. What was left of the water spilled out onto the carpet. “You saw something else, didn’t you?”

Percy glanced at his mother and then nodded but it was his mother that spoke, “We did. It’s the same vision that Percy’s aunt saw last week in Paris.”

Jacob waited another few seconds and burst out, “If someone doesn’t tell—”

Queenie stopped him with a squeeze and a wan smile. “We saw death, honey. We saw death.”


	3. The Sea Green Ice

Book III—The Sea Green Ice

 

The crux of the matter, Newt mused as he waited at the window, his breath coming in short, white puffs, was that when one needed moments of peace to clear one’s head in order to think, one often didn’t get it. But when one _did_ have moments in which to think, when one had the time to stand back and observe dispassionately, one was easily able to make the logical conclusions that had eluded one before.

Moments such as the latter were, unfortunately, now easily to be had because he’d been locked in this room for two days and time was in surfeit.

At least, he thought it was two days. There were no time-keeping devices anywhere about and heavy clouds had hidden the sun the whole while. For all he knew, it could be late morning or late afternoon.

He’d arrived at this destination seconds after touching the portkey. Nauseous and dizzy, he’d stumbled and swayed, barely able to stand up straight. When he had caught his balance, he was surprised to find himself in a bedroom that was so cold his breath vaporized upon exhalation. There was no glass on the single window and the spare furniture was white with frost. Not even thinking about it, he had tucked the portkey in his pocket, got out his wand, and hurried from the room. And that was his next surprise because he was now in an ordinary hallway with ordinary carpeting and ordinary, albeit unlit, oil lamps. The walls were cut stone and, thankfully, the air was a hair warmer.

Experience and many dangerous creature-seeking missions had long since taught Newt that in order to stay alive in a sticky situation, one needed to do four things: have wand at the ready, examine the surroundings, respond quickly to danger, and never panic.

Wand already held out, he listened hard. He heard a faint sound he thought might be the wind whistling through the bedroom window but nothing else. Steeling his nerves for anything, he tiptoed down the hall, hoping it would lead to a stairway. It didn’t—it connected to another, much longer, hall. Unlike the first, this one was decorated with furniture and hanging tapestries. A row of old-fashioned mullioned windows let enough light in to see that the tapestries were falling apart and the carpeting was stained and torn. He scuffed at a large hole in the carpet with the toe of his boot and then went to the windows. A thin layer of hoarfrost covered the cracked glass; he scraped it away and peered out.

He was in a castle. Or something like because he was looking down at three walls and a central courtyard. There were three entryways—two on the ground level and one on the third floor accessed by steps that had been cut into the stone. A snow-covered cart rested near the opposite wall and a dead tree stood in the center of the courtyard. He could see nothing of the landscape beyond the grey walls, just a never-ending white. Which meant he was in someplace very flat or very high.

He surveyed the courtyard again. From this height, he couldn’t see footprints in the snow and there were no lights in what few windows there were. It was exceedingly desolate, as if someone had once lived here long ago but had given it up for a lost cause and had packed up and left. And it wasn’t just that—Newt turned from the window and cocked his head. Every building had floobeatles or mice or rats, even Muggle houses and offices but not here. The lack of life was so very odd, so very off-putting, and he had to clear his throat as the first touch of fear cooled his fingers.

Touching the small lump in his breast pocket that was his portkey to Percy, he wondered if he should just give up and go back. He’d square his shoulders and admit he’d been wrong and everyone else right. He’d done it before; he could do it again.

He reached for the portkey and then hesitated. He’d found nothing. A cold room, a crumbling castle—so what? He didn’t know the location of the castle or whether the place was truly empty or why anyone would want to port to it. Which meant he had no information, which meant Percy would be even more angry and disappointed; Newt could take a lot of things, but he never wanted Percy to look at him like he had in that tunnel.

Knowing he was manipulating logic to suit his will but also knowing that he had to find _something_ to help Percy, Newt patted his pocket, then hurried down the corridor.

***

Luck, of a sort, was with him. When he reached the end of the corridor he found another, but this one was shorter and bisected by a wide staircase. He crept to it and then down, his heart beating so hard he wondered if he was going to have an attack.

Minus the chatty paintings and the statues and the Persian rug that was forever trying to get him to go for a spin along the Thames, the hall reminded him of his family’s place in the city. It gave him a bit of comfort, the memory, and maybe it was that brief recollection of life elsewhere that made him sloppy, for as soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs, he went to the door on his left. With no ceremony, he pulled it open.

So, he thought, frozen as he faced at least a half dozen people, all lazing about the large, warm room. So.

He took it all in within seconds: the crackling fire, the man sitting at a desk on the right, the woman reading by the fire, the others standing in the middle of the room, looking up and pointing their wands to the ceiling, laughing as the thing that floated to and fro hit the chandelier and—

Newt must have gasped because the reading witch looked up. Her eyes grew wide and she shouted. Newt slammed the door and took off.

He almost made it. Blocking the door with a transfigured statue of his great-grandfather Theseus—the only thing he could think up that quickly—he fumbled for the Percy portkey. He’d just touched the pouch when two wizards and a witch apparated into the room. Smiling stupidly, Newt spun on his heel and sprinted for the main doors while he cast an _incarcerous_ spell at random. It missed one of the wizards and hit the witch. She dropped to the floor but it didn’t help—with a pop and a whiz, four other wizards apparated in.

Severely outnumbered, Newt gave up on the door and disapparated back to the upstairs hall, landing near the frozen bedroom. He only needed a moment—the portkey pouch was in his hand and all he had to do wa—

He never got his moment. He was struggling to pull the pouch open with his teeth when someone apparated in behind him. He turned just in time to see a witch point her wand and call out, _“Alarte Ascendare!”_

Newt shot up into the air from the force of the blast even as he was hit by another bolt from behind. The twin strikes threw him across the hall. He smashed into the wall, his head cracking against the stone wall. He fell, landing on a side table. It gave under his weight and he fell once more, curling up against the broken wood. His hearing as muffled as his sight, he felt someone come nearer. They kicked him hard in the back and the minor pain completed the job that hitting the wall had started—his vision greyed and tipped. He wanted so very much to pass out but summoning the last of his reserves, he shoved the pouch as far as he could under the wreckage of the table.

And then with a moan he couldn’t seem to help, the edges of dark became the real thing and he knew no more.

***

It was the sound of voices that woke him next. Or rather, he thought with a wince as sentience returned, it was the sound of an argument between two men, their voices getting louder as the argument progressed.

“And if he doesn’t? You know his standing commandments—all unknown wizards are to be exterminated immediately,” a man argued.

“But he’s not ‘unknown,’ is he?” That was from the second man, his tone scathing and tight. “We know who—”

“He had Enoch’s _pin_ ,” the first man interrupted. “Which means they figured it out, which means they could be on our trail as we speak!”

“And if that is so, if they know, then he might be our only pawn in this game. To give him up so easily would be a mistake. _He’d_ say so, too.”

Judging by their accents, the first man was French and the second Scandinavian. Though their English was thick, the pronouns didn’t confuse Newt in the slightest—he knew exactly who the ‘he’s’ were and this _was_ Grindelwald’s operation and the portkeys _were_ to be used as a way to return and not as a means to send the MACUSA Aurors into oblivion. Of course, the confirmation did little to explain the rest and he was still puzzling it out when a third voice chimed in. It was a woman who spoke with a clear, Welsh accent: “You are bickering over nothing. Just because Scamander is here, it means nothing. He could have touched the key by accident.”

The second man answered and his disdain clear, “Of course you would believe that, Ronnok; you’ve always had too much faith in the security of this installation.”

“It’s not faith, it is knowledge based on fact and logic.”

One of the men sighed and then the Frenchman replied, “Be that as it may, it gets us nowhere as we know nothing.”

“Then why don’t we ask him ourselves?” Ronnok said. “He is awake, after all.”

Other than the sudden thick pounding of Newt’s heart, all noise ceased. He opened his eyes to find three pairs of eyes staring down at him. Well, two and a half, really, because the women called Ronnok was missing an eye—it was covered with a black eye patch. “Hullo,” he said.

Ronnok smiled; it wasn’t a pretty smile nor was it happy. “Good afternoon, Mr. Scamander.”

“Er, point of fact,” Newt said with his own smile, “it’s Magizoologist Newton Scamander, Order of Merlin, Second Class.” The wizards were a combination of young and old. The younger man had hair so pale it was almost white and the older man had a scar across his chin.

Ronnok raised an eyebrow. “‘Order of Merlin,’ is it? I wouldn’t be so quick to claim allegiance to that misbegotten title. After all, Merlin betrayed his own kind.”

“That’s very interesting,” Newt said, “and I would love to discuss your philosophy further but if you’re going to use me as bait, can you just get on with it so I can go home? I have creatures to see to.” When none of them moved, he turned to Ronnok, “How did you lose your eye?”

Startled, she huffed angrily; behind her back, the two men smirked. “I know you’re going to try to escape,” Ronnok said, “but you might as well not bother—that lock will never open for you and I’ve set a pass-through charm. We can apparate in but you can’t apparate out.”

“You’re right,” Newt said. “I _am_ going to try to escape. It’s what kidnapees do, as point of fact.”

Ronnok nodded thoughtfully. “You’re welcome to try.” She gestured to the men and they swept from the room, the door slamming shut behind them.

Well, that was that Newt thought as the lock clicked in place and silence descended. That was that and he sat up. His vision swam as black spots danced and then slowly cleared.

He was lying on a bed in a bedroom. It was a girl’s room, by the looks of it though he hadn’t much experience with girls’ rooms. Unlike the rest of the castle, the room was clean and neat and quite warm. There was a vanity near the windows, and a dresser and bookshelf against the far wall. There was even an attached water closet. The fireplace held no fire, which meant his captors were heating the room by magic.

The windows were modern, the glass in them crystal clear. Everything was painted white—the walls, the furniture, even the floors and doors. The only bits of color were the pink roses that decorated the white-framed mirror and the comforter. So yes, Newt wasn’t familiar with girls and their likes and dislikes but he thought the whole effect was rather insipid, harkening back to Victorian England more than anything else.

Carefully, he stood up. His back hurt and his head hurt but other than that, he felt himself. He was, however, a bit more undressed than he’d started out. His coat and vest were gone, as was his wand. Pursing his lips, he went to the door. Even before he touched it, the doorknob glowed a bright red and began to whine.

“Oh, hush,” he scolded it. “I had to test it.”

The doorknob flashed orange and stopped complaining.

So, the witch hadn’t lied. The lock _was_ bewitched, he had no way of un-bewitching it, and he was stuck in a girl’s room. Sighing, he rubbed the back of his neck and went to the window.

Same white sky, same white ground, only now he was gazing at a flat, grey ocean. The castle was situated on a cliff so high that even looking down made him dizzy. Far off down the coast was a smudge of white and black that had to be a lighthouse. Other than that, there wasn’t a single creature or human-made thing to be seen and if he hadn’t been feeling off before, he was so now. Imagine living here on a day-to-day basis? No color, no life, just this flat light and a dreary sameness that spanned the horizon.

On the tail end of that thought came another, the sick realization that he missed Percy so much his stomach and chest hurt. It had been so long since he’d felt this ache only now it wasn’t for a boy built from fantasy, but a real flesh and blood man and Newt whispered, “Percy, I am so sorry. When I get back, I am never, ever going to leave you again.”

A squeaking chirp replied; Newt turned so fast, his heel slipped on the painted floor.

“Hello?” he said.

He heard it again. It came from under the bed. Wondering if he really wanted to do this, he crouched and peered into the dark space. At first he couldn’t see anything and then his eyes adjusted and he caught a glimpse of something shining back. Hoping it wasn’t the arctic version of a boggart, he sat down and said, “Come out. I won’t harm you.”

The nothing didn’t moved. He gently patted the floor, like he did with his month-old mooncalves when they’d had too much of a good thing and needed to be drawn away from the bright moon in order to sleep. “Come on,” he said again, this time turning a bit so he wasn’t facing the bed.

That seemed to work because with a snuff and a huff, the creature came from under the bed.

Newt gave it a sidelong glance, murmuring, “Well, I’ll be…” because here, finally, was his Appaloosa Puffskein.

“Only you’re not exactly like, are you?” he said, smiling sideways at the creature. The puffskein was as big as the palm of his hand, round and fluffy, colored a creamy white except for the scattered gray dots. “For one thing, Appaloosa Puffskeins, the American version that is, are much bigger and their markings are black, not gray. You must be a cousin, yes?”

The puffskein didn’t reply.

“Well, either way,” Newt said, “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Newt.”

The puffskein edged closer.

“Are you a prisoner, too?” he asked, though he knew puffskeins generally came and went as they pleased. “If so and if I can, when I escape, I will take you with me. I’ll need to delouse you, of course, and make sure you don’t have any communicable diseases, but I think my other puffskeins will quite like you. If you prefer a colder clime, I’ll make you a cave in my obscuru—”

The words died in his throat as a wave of heat and then cold washed over his cheeks and throat. The obscurus. Which he kept in the frozen tundra of nothing because the cold made it malleable and slow, as controlled as such a life form was ever going to _be_.

Newt scrambled to his feet. The puffskein mewed and then rolled back to its hiding place. Newt got on all fours and peered under the bed again. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just that I am such an idiot because I just realized something I should have realized weeks ago. Even _months_ ago.”

He got back to his feet and went to the window again.

Back in November, after Grindelwald had been taken away in figurative chains, Newt had gone with Tina to an orphanage in the appropriately named Hell’s Kitchen area of New York. Tina had told him about her experiences with the Barebones. It was then that he learned of Mary Lou’s daughters, the dead one and the missing one—what was her name? Tina had said that the little girl had given her the willies and that she was forever sneaking about.

But she and Credence were close, Tina had added, the girl often leading Credence about by the hand and if they were that close…

He was a fool and if he’d actually taken time to _think_ he would have realized why Grindelwald’s minions, at least the women, were dressed in all that finery and carrying jewelry, poor replicas though they’d been. It was all to seduce the girl—what _was_ her name?—into following them because she knew where Credence’s obscurus was.

Why else gather in this remote place? Why else keep one of the rooms freezing cold and decorate this one to suit a child?

Newt stood there for the longest time, testing his hypothesis, reviewing Grindelwald’s statements and his follower’s actions. It all fit and he should have known.

A new thought occurred and it sent a chill down his spine. What if Percy used one of the portkeys?

Things between them weren’t quite so bad to _not_ know that he meant something to Percy. No matter the figurative distance between them, maybe Percy would decide the same as Newt, that a firsthand assessment was the only solution. Percy, after all, was a very rational man and would take time to think it through. So if he came, what then? The leftover thing the wizards had been playing with had once been a person. If they did the same thing to Percy…

Newt’s stomach roiled and panic set in. He pushed away from the window with only one goal in mind: he had to get free and get free _now._

Wondering if the inhabitants had set up a spy system and not much caring if they had, he began to explore. The windows were glazed shut and he could probably break them and quite possibly scale the walls even though the brick from this angle looked impossibly smooth. But he’d still have to get back inside somehow because he had to find either his wand or the Percy portkey. So escape by window was pointless; he’d either need to use the door or find some other egress.

Newt pulled back the armoire and dresser, he tapped the walls and floors, he even looked up the floo, coming away with nothing other than sooty hands that he washed in the white bathroom after fumbling about in there, too. Unable to find any kind of way out, he went back to the door and tested the alarm, finding that he could get near to the top and bottom of the door, but not the hinges. Every time he did, the lock began to whine like a Muggle police vehicle. The minute he pulled back, the alarm wound down.

While he was testing the door, the puffskein came from under the bed. It followed Newt, first from a distance, and then a bit closer. Every time Newt moved unexpectedly, the puffskein shivered and every time, Newt soothed it with soft, distracted words.

Finally, at what was probably dinnertime though he wasn’t really sure, he went back to the bed and sat down with a thump. The room wasn’t a prison cell but it might as well be, for he was well and truly caught. If only he had his wand. If only he was Percy and could cast a spell with just his hands. When he was a boy, he used to try, hiding under the covers so nobody would know. He’d practiced and practiced with no results.

Wondering if age was a factor and feeling a bit silly, he tried a simple _caleo_ charm in an effort to warm the air about him. Nothing happened and he tried again. He was trying a third time when he heard footsteps in the hall. The puffskein scurried under the bed and Newt got to his feet.

The door opened.

It was Ronnok. By her side was a floating tray. “Are you hungry?” she asked.

Wondering which way to play this, Newt settled for a shrug.

“You might as well eat,” the witch said. “We’re still trying to decide what to do with you which means you might be here a while.”

“So, you’re not going to use me as bait or kill me?” It might be a stupid, unsubtle question but Newt had never been known for his subtlety.

Ronnok seemed to agree because she shrugged. “The direct approach, eh?” She wanded the tray to the dresser. “It’s just as well, I suppose.” She let the tray plop down on the dresser with a clatter and didn’t answer.

“Where in Wales are you from?”

Ronnok raised an eyebrow but, again, didn’t answer.

“I quite like Wales,” Newt said, examining the tray with false interest. Tea, milk and some sort of shapeless scone. “There is a forest near Cardiff that is the home of one of the oldest centaurs on the planet.” Ronnok didn’t reply. “His name is Apollonius and he was born in 1491. He doesn’t get out much but his mind is as sharp as a tack.”

“Scamander,” Ronnok said as if she were running out of patience.

Feeling as if he’d just scored a point, Newt said conversationally, “I know what you’re trying to do. I just don’t know how you can think to effect such a grandiose design.”

“Your meaning?”

He smiled. “You know as well as I that simply abducting a young girl and the obscurus will get you nowhere. Even if you could manipulate the latter, what then? If it survived, it’s much too weak to regenerate. Or,” he added thoughtfully, making a show of it because he’d just lied through his teeth and didn’t want Ronnok to catch on, “perhaps you’re all just playing along with Grindelwald, bowing to his whims while you either stall for time or desperately try to find a way to satisfy him. I imagine he’s not pleasant to be around when he’s not…” Newt glanced at Ronnok’s eye patch. “…satisfied.”

Ronnok smirked but Newt caught her slight twitch, the almost galvanic reaction as her hand jerked up.

“Yes, “ Newt added, pushing harder, “I’ve seen the results of his work and the thing that has always struck me is how crude he is. He’s a master tactician but his execution is so sloppy. A second-year at Hogwarts could do better.” He wandered over to the fireplace, wondering how much it was going to hurt when she finally reacted. “And then there’s his so called inspirational side and there I think he’s made the simple mistake of confusing inspiration with fear mongering. The former is difficult as it requires finesse while the latt—”

Ronnok barked something unintelligible and a mass hit Newt square on the shoulder and sent him to the floor. Stunned for only a moment, he pushed to his knees and then his feet. Ronnok had sent a handful of books his way. Making a show of brushing off his hands, he said placidly, “So you agree.”

Ronnok snarled and strode to the door.

Before she could leave, however, Newt called out, “You might as well take the tea—you know I’ll not eat anything you give me.”

For an answer, Ronnok waved her wand. The tea tray jerked aloft and then trembled. She wanted to hit him with it—he could see her battle with her own control. But her mouth worked and then she gestured. The door opened and the tray followed her out.

As soon as the door closed, Newt sighed and rubbed his shoulder. He wasn’t surprised by Ronnok’s reaction, but he was surprised by her relative leniency. Here he was, at her mercy and she hadn’t hurt him beyond giving him what would eventually be a colorful bruise. Which meant he either had value or they truly _didn’t_ know what to do with him.

Which, he wondered, was the most desirable of situations? If it were that he had value, he’d have to watch his step because the minute he lost that protection, he’d be dead. If it was because they were without focus or leader, it meant they would soon begin carving their own paths to their goal. Which would mean an unknown number of insane witches and wizards could soon descend upon the world, wreaking unknown havoc.

Sighing again, Newt decided he much preferred the value option and he crouched down and looked under the bed. “Hello?” he said softly. There was no reply. He searched under the dresser and then the armoire. The puffskein was gone.

Hoping it had gotten safely away, he was nonetheless a little sad. Puffskeins were of little use, but it had been nice having company of the non-evil variety.

He picked up the books and set them on the bookshelf, then went to the bed and lay down.

Did Ronnok believe his lie about the viability of Credence’s obscurus? Probably, hopefully. His own obscurus, notwithstanding, he’d always assumed that an unattached obscurus _could_ reattach to the living host, if the host was healthy. He’d also assumed that the host would never survive such a blending, but the situation with Credence was much different. The boy had been weak, but not near death. He’d managed to live past the crucial age of eight. There was every reason to assume that while in his obscurial state at the moment of his destruction, Credence had managed to retain the human part of his soul, for lack of a better word.

Newt turned on his side and began to run through the permutations of retrieving Credence. So many _ifs_ and _maybes_ because he had no way of knowing if Credence’s body was anyway intact. Still ruminating, he fell into a light sleep only to dream vaguely of Percy calling his name.

***

When Newt woke, he found another tray on the dresser. Annoyed that he missed his chance of talking with Ronnok, he got up and peered at the food. It was the same as before—lumps of baked goods and tea. He poked at the scone; one would think they were _trying_ to make it look as unappetizing as possible.

His record for days without food was only two but he figured he could stretch that to three if he had to. Water, on the other hand, was a different story and he went to the bathroom. Hoping the fact that he’d washed up the day before and hadn’t died was a sign that the water wasn’t bewitched or poisoned, he drank his fill from the tap.

Feeling refreshed from just that, Newt wiped his mouth and then looked at his reflection in the mirror. He stifled a gasp. The whole right side of his face was bruised, tinged in blues and yellows. He touched the long bruise that graced his temple. It was tender to the touch and he stared at his own reflection, remembered flying through the air and hitting the wall.

Frowning, he straightened up and then for no good reason, kicked the washstand base. He was in a foul mood. He was rarely in a foul mood. Maybe it was because of his very short incarceration or maybe it was because he wasn’t fond of being cooped up inside for very long.

But it was neither of those things, he admitted silently, limping as he returned to the window. He was simply just very worried and being not the worrying sort, he was bad at it.

If Tina were here, she’d take it all in stride because she was a worrier and it never seemed to interfere with her job performance. Jacob, too, though his worries tended to the strange and interesting. One time Jacob told Newt that he sometimes worried that the city would just fall into the Earth because the buildings were so heavy. During the war, Jacob had added, he’d seen a cafe consumed by a sinkhole and he was sure it could happen in New York. Newt had casually mentioned bedrock and the like, thinking that was a bit silly, worrying about things that had a high probability of never happening.

He was being repaid in kind, he thought, his nose pressed against the cold glass. He should have felt a bit more sympathy for Jacob, though he wasn’t very good at that, either.

Newt mused a while, staring out at the white nothing until boredom sent him over to the bookshelves. The selection was divided between school primers that were out of date even when he was in school, and Muggle-written adventures for little girls. he chose _Anne of Green Gables_ and went back to the bed.

***

He made it to the second chapter before giving up on Anne and her improbable escapades. He’d never had a sister but was sure that if he had, she’d be more sensible and not so vain. He put the book back on the shelf and glanced at the others. None looked anymore interesting and he went back to the window.

There was no change in the landscape. The sky did look a bit darker, but maybe that was his imagination. Sighing, he strolled back across the room and then returned to the window. He did it again. And again, until he was pacing but not really pacing, because he was fine and he was going to get out, he really was _._

Newt was on his howevermany circuit when something inside boiled over and strode to the door. Without pausing, he wrenched the doorknob, gripping it so tight its shrieks couldn’t be heard. The metal warmed and then burned, glowing hot under his hand. He managed to hold on a small number seconds before he let go with a gasp, his eyes watering. He looked at his palm—the skin wasn’t charred but it was red, the doorknob’s pattern already appearing in welts.

Dejected and angry because it had been a stupid, stupid thing to do, he went to the bathroom. The shelves held a bar of soap, a spare roll of toilet tissue and a tin of Canthrox Shampoo, but no salve or unguent. With no other resource, he made do with plain water, his lips pressed tight until the pain died back. He patted his palm with a hand towel and then went back to the room.

Newt stared at the bed and then went to the space on the other side and sat down on the floor, his back to the wall. He cradled his burned hand to his chest, palm up.

He should have taken this all a bit more seriously. He saw that now. Instead of investigating the house, he should have left immediately. Then, he could have informed Percy. Then, they could have come up with a proper plan. So, yes, there would have been little by which _to_ inform, but what of it? At least he’d be alive.

And there it was, he thought, a shiver running down his arms. At least he’d be alive.

He’d faced troops armed with wands and dragons. He’d faced creatures that made other wizards tremble in fear. But this Merlin-bedamned room…

How could such a ridiculous thing as a _room_ manage to defeat him? It was truly maddening and he closed his eyes in an effort to think logically.

Logic said that every design had a flaw; as far as he could see, the window was that flaw. Logic said that as long as he was breathing, there was a chance; yes, he was still breathing. Logic also said he needed to keep his strength up which meant he needed to eat. He eyed the tray. He’d give it another day—if he couldn’t manage his escape through the window, he’d try the food and see what happened. If he didn’t get sick or die, he’d go the next logical route and attack Ronnok when she entered the room.

Ignoring all the silent alarms that said it was a terrible plan, Newt pulled his legs up and drifted off into a waking sleep.

***

He dreamed again. At least, he thought he did because it wasn’t like any other dream he’d ever had. It was at once real and not real and he could feel the heavy weight of his own body as he tried to wake up. The effort only served to push him further in and he found himself in some sort of waist-high maze made of smoke that _writhed and mocked, changing form every time he moved. He could hear a high-pitched noise that sounded like a child singing or laughing. Knowing it was a dream, Newt was nevertheless terrified and he batted at the mist. It seethed and then billowed, reforming to a tall wall of white. It quivered and then, like a theater curtain, it parted, revealing…_

_‘Percy!’ Newt called out, relief coursing through his veins. Coatless, with his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow, Percy was turned away. Newt reached out but found that he couldn’t move his feet. ‘Percy?’ he said again. Percy didn’t respond, but the mist did—it drew back, revealing another figure, this one a woman. She was small with dark hair and dark skin. Wearing a loose white robe that flowed and drifted with the fog, she was half hidden by Percy. Unlike Percy, she was staring straight at Newt._

_Unable to wrest his gaze from the woman’s, Newt swallowed. He had often wondered what a bug felt like under his microscope and now he knew. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, being examined so thoroughly, and he was stepping back when Percy looked over his shoulder._

_So, yes, this_ was _a nightmare because Percy’s eyes weren’t his normal, lovely dark brown but completely white. Newt made some sound of protest. The fog laughed a reply and swept up his body and covered him ov—_

Noise, deep and insistent, broke Newt out of his dream. He woke to find himself curled up in a ball against the wall. His face was wet and at first he thought he’d been crying but then realized it was simply sweat.

The noise sounded again. He scrambled to his feet, recognizing it for what it was—a gong, like the one his mother used to use to call her hippogriffs to supper. Newt waited, on figurative pins and needles, and then he heard a muffled shout. Hurrying to the window, he looked out. It was snowing, a light fall that intermittently hid and revealed the landscape. He was turning away when skyward movement caught his eye. As he watched, two figures swept down from the white. It was two witches on brooms hurtling towards the castle. As they disappeared from view, he saw another, a wizard flying up the coast. He swept along the surf’s edge, then took a sharp right angle and flew up the steep cliffs and then over the high castle walls.

Newt swallowed. By the speed at which the wizard flew, something was happening and he was wondering what it could be when the doorknob rattled. He hurried to the desk and waited, his breath in his throat.

The door opened and Ronnok came in; she was carrying a large bag. Following her were two strangers, a wizard and a crying girl. The wizard was about Percy’s age and was missing part of his ear. With a rucksack slung over his shoulder, he was holding the girl’s hand so tight her fingers were white.

The girl was wearing a tattered dress and a coat that had seen better days; her fair hair was pulled back in a loose braid. She stared down at the ground as tears ran down her cheeks.

“See?” Ronnok said, talking to the girl but looking at Newt. “I told you we weren’t going to hurt you. Here’s someone to keep you company while we take care of a few matters.”

The girl didn’t look up.

“Kenhelm,” Ronnok added, “let the girl go.”

“But she will—”

“She won’t!” Ronnok hissed.

The girl flinched.

“She is going to stay here,” Ronnok added. “She will have an American tea and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, she will be all better and we will get to work.”

Reluctance in his every move, Kenhelm tossed the rucksack on the bed and then released the girl. She didn’t move.

“You see?” the Ronnok said. “She knows on what side her bread is buttered. She won’t run. Now, come.”

Kenhelm hesitated. “Maybe I should sta—”

“You’ll leave her alone,” Ronnok hissed, glaring once more. “Go.”

Kenhelm sidled out the door and Ronnok followed. Too late, Newt remembered his plan. He stepped forward just as the door closed. Damnation. “Well,” he said after a moment turning to the girl. She was now shrinking back, clutching the brass bed frame and staring at the floor. Just like the puffskein, she was terrified. “You needn’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”

The girl’s pinched mouth only grew more pinched.

“I’m wondering,” Newt tried again, this time crouching because it was what he did when faced with a much smaller creature—compress one’s bulk to make oneself less threatening. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Modesty, would it?”

The girl’s fingers curled, but just slightly.

“I think that’s your name; I couldn’t remember before, you see, but now…” He smiled and tipped his head. “My name is Newt. You know my friend Tina Goldstein. She’s a friend of Credence?”

As if Tina’s name was the magic word, the girl finally looked up.

Newt nodded and inched closer. “You _are_ Modesty, aren’t you? You’re Credence’s sister? Tina’s been looking for you. She’s very worried about you.”

The girl’s eyes widened and her face turned red. She swallowed and then, with no warning at all, she burst into tears and flung herself into Newt’s arms.

***

Shielding his burnt hand, Newt held the girl until she cried herself out. When her sobs had reached the gulping point, he picked her up and carried her to the bed. He found himself murmuring, _“There, there_ ,” over and over, as if that had any power to ease her fears. But it seemed to work and after a short while, she stopped crying altogether. She pushed away.

Newt set her on the mattress. “Stay right there. I’ll be right back.” He hurried to the bathroom and dampened the washrag. Children in general were mystery to him but, but Muggle children were like another species. Still, he remembered his mother cooling his face with a cloth whenever he’d been sick and that had to be a sort of cross-species comfort, yes?

It seemed to do the trick because Modesty sighed at the first touch of the cloth.

“A little better?” Newt murmured.

Modesty nodded.

“Did they hurt you at all?”

She squinted but shook her head.

“Good,” Newt said and then balled the cloth up. “They didn’t hurt me, either.”

Modesty frowned and then glanced at the side of Newt’s head.

Newt curled his fingers around his palm and then touched the bruises. “Yes, well, that’s not much of anything. I wish they hadn’t taken my coat because it had—” Remembering just who he was talking to, he trailed off and then smiled and lobbed the cloth into the sink. “Anyway, they didn’t hurt me. They just locked me up.”

Modesty glanced at the door.

“No,” he said. “Unfortunately, that way is _verboten_.” At Modesty’s look of confusion, he added, “It’s German for ‘forbidden.’ Do you know what forbidden means?”

Modesty nodded and then spoke for the first time, her voice small, “It means something you shouldn’t do.”

Newt smiled. “Yes, that’s it exactly. The door is locked tight and there’s no way out.”

“My sister, Chastity, once showed me how to pick a lock with a hairpin.”

Newt glanced at the girl’s hair. “Even if we did have such a thing, it wouldn’t work.”

“Why?”

There was no way to explain to a Muggle child the workings of a magical lock, so he shrugged and lied, “Because I’ve seen the key—it’s very intricate.”

Modesty frowned. “Mister Newt?”

“You can just call me ‘Newt,’ but yes?”

“Why did that lady take me?”

Another thing he wasn’t quite sure how to explain, so he temporized, “I’m not sure. I think it has something to do with Credence.”

Modesty looked down at her hands.

“Modesty?” Newt said. “Is Credence still alive?”

It was the wrong thing to say, because she closed up, almost literally, crossing her arms over her chest and turning to look at the far wall. “I’m tired,” she said.

Newt stood up and patted the bed. “Then you shall sleep.”

Modesty didn’t move. “I’m hungry, too.”

He glanced at the tray with its stale tea and scones. Just looking at the food awakened his own hunger and his stomach churned. He wished he could hold out longer but it was no use—he was hungry, too, almost starving. “Very well,” he said. “But let me try first. If I turn purple or get sick, pound on the door and someone might come.”

Modesty’s eyes grew wide and she scooted away from him.

“I’m not saying it _will_ make me sick,” Newt said reassuringly. “But one can never tell.” He went to the tray and picked up a scone. He took a bite and chewed reflectively. “It’s as tasteless as it is ugly, but it doesn’t _seem_ poisonous.” Head cocked he waited for pain or the urge to babble. Neither happened though his stomach grumbled even more. He glanced at Modesty. She was watching with a grimace. “It seems okay,” Newt said. He picked up the tray and went to the bed. “I believe it’s all good. When was your last meal?”

Modesty scooted nearer. “I can’t remember.”

Newt gave the girl a part of a scone. “Then eat slowly, please. I once saw a…” He caught himself in time; dragons weren’t part of the Muggle world. “A large lizard gobble up its meal too quickly and it died. It was starving, you see, and the food was too much for its shrunken stomach.”

A piece of scone held to her lips, Modesty’s eyes widened again.

Newt cursed his foolish tongue and tried to mend his _faux pas_. “But that’s not you, of course. A… A large lizard has a much different digestive system than a human. And you’re not as hungry as the large lizard was. It hadn’t eaten in months and…” He closed his mouth with a snap. He _was_ babbling, but he was certain it was his typical form and not magically induced.

“Large lizards don’t have to eat for months?” Modesty asked, eating the last of her scone.

Newt picked up the teacup and went to the bathroom. He rinsed it out several times, hoping the dousing would remove any coating Ronnok might have used. “Well,” he said, calling out over his shoulder, “they have extremely slow digestive systems and it can take months for their food to be consumed.”

“What do they eat?”

Newt, still thinking about the Moldovian Leadbelly that had gobbled down a horse and then thrown it back up, filled the cup with water and answered vaguely, “What do they eat? Oh, all manner of sticks and leaves and green things.”

“Oh.”

He went back to the room. “Here. It’s not much but you need water, too. I’ll give you more in a bit.”

Modesty drank the water and then gave the cup back to Newt. She looked at the tea tray.

“No more just yet,” Newt cautioned, taking the tray back to the dresser. “Why don’t you try to sleep. I’ll wake you in an hour or so and you can have another scone.”

Modesty nodded and toed off her shoes, one after another. Her stockings were so moth-eaten, they were barely there. She got under the covers. “I’ve never had a scone before.”

“Well, now you have.”

“Newt?”

“Yes?”

Modesty looked up at him. “Are we going to die?”

It was a question he was completely unprepared for and Newt swallowed. And then smiled as gently as he knew how. “Of course not. I’ve friends that are looking for me as I speak.” The words were a charm, releasing the worry he’d hidden in the furrows of his heart and he thought for the first time, _‘Is that true? Are you coming for me, Percy?’_

“You do?”

He bent and pulled the covers up to Modesty’s chin and then sat down on the bed. “I do. Tina and my brother and… A friend. They won’t rest until they find me and that means they’ll find you, too.”

“Okay.” Modesty turned on her side. “I like Miss Goldstein,” she mumbled.

Newt patted the girl’s knee and stood up. “I do, too. Very much.”

Modesty started to answer but then she closed her eyes and was out like a light.

Wondering if all children fell asleep that quickly or if it were a Muggle thing, Newt picked up another scone and went to sit on the floor under the window. He ate while examining his hand. It wasn’t looking too good. The tissue was puffy and white. He knew what that meant and would have to do something about it soon or gangrene would set in. Except for his creatures, he’d never practiced medicine beyond the usual scrapes and cuts.

Well, that wasn’t true and he leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed. He hated this memory. Whenever it slinked in he did his best to ignore it, generally by concentrating hard on something else. But he was alone in this awful place with a frightened Muggle girl and even she knew they were in desperate straights and just like that, the memory elbowed its way in and…

_…the dragon shudders as the bolt hits her belly. She shrieks and tries to fly off but Newt forces her around and then up to a ledge. He understands her terror because he’s also afraid, but he’s not going to leave, not now._

_Below, the field is covered with smoke that wafts this way and that, revealing a scene out of a nightmare. There are bodies everywhere, some charred, some still burning. Volkov’s line is on the verge of breaking but their numbers are still strong—they can afford to lose scores more._

_The Confederation, on the other hand, is in trouble. The terrain is difficult and they’ve become separated in all the chaos. As Newt watches, one of the commanders rallies them, his voice booming across the field, ‘Come on, we’ve got them!’ Newt’s heart aches because it’s Theseus, giving it all he’s got from his position on the crag overlooking the battlefield._

_But it works—the section leader repeats Thee’s call to arms and the Confederation line reforms and solidifies into a curved formation. With a shout, a familiar figure at the head of the arc begins his attack, advancing with raised wand and hand, his black robes swirling. Newt’s heart aches once more because he hates that Percy is down there in the thick of things even though they all have to do their part._

_And maybe it’s for the best because Percy’s troops love him and they follow him into the smoke, their voices roaring until finally, Volkov’s line_ does _fracture and his men start to retreat._

_Except for one, a wizard wearing the cap of Volkov’s elite. He breaks free and circles around the Confederation’s left flank. He’s creeps up and then stops._

_It’s as if everyone has been hit by an_ arresto momentum _spell, Newt thinks in a grey daze. Slowly, Volkov’s wizard takes aim, focusing on Percy’s vulnerable back. Slowly, Percy moves forward, firing so furiously, he’s almost glowing._

_There’s no time and no way, but Newt digs his heels into the dragon’s thick hide and shouts, ‘Down!’_

_The dragon leaps from her perch and swoops, slipping sideways, the tips of her wing dragging the stony earth. But she’s big and bulky, and instead of startling the wizard, she merely gets in the way. The curse hits her and she roars in pain, spewing flame everywhere. Volkov’s troops cry out and scatter. Newt has no time for victory. His attention is on a single man, now lying on the ground._

_Landing the dragon, Newt slides off before she’s on all fours. He jumps over bodies and dodges fleeing men, pushing them aside roughly because Percy still hasn’t moved._

_He trips at the last, stumbling on the cloak of a dead wizard and falls to the ground. He scrambles over to Percy and then turns him over._

_He’s going to be sick. He’s never been sick before but the sight of Percy’s white face and that thing that used to be his ar—_

“Mr. Newt?”

Newt opened his eyes and sat up, dashing away the trace of tears. Modesty was awake and huddled under the covers. “Yes? What is it?”

She pointed to the vanity. “There’s something under that table.”

Frowning, Newt leaned sideways to look. It was the puffskein, edging along the wall. “It’s just a puffskein,” he said. “He was here before but I thought he was gone.” He held out his hand and the puffskein changed course. “Where did you come from, I wonder,” he murmured.

“Is it an animal?” Modesty asked, looking down.

“It very much is,” he answered.

“I’ve never seen one before.”

“That’s because puffskeins are unknown in America,” Newt fibbed smoothly as the puffskein braved Modesty’s presence and came even closer.

“Oh.”

“They’re harmless,” Newt said, looking up. “Do you want to see?”

Modesty frowned but then she slipped out of bed and tiptoed over. She knelt and then, copying Newt, held her hand out, palm up. The puffskein rolled over to her and licked her fingers. Modesty giggled, a shocking sound in the ugly white room. Her smile changed her face entirely and she looked like the little girl she was.

“It tickles,” she said.

“It does,” Newt murmured, his mind on a new objective. Ronnok and her crew weren’t going to harm this little girl, not if he could help it.

“What’s that in its mouth?”

“Hmm?” Newt said, still distracted.

“It’s got something in its mouth.”

“As puffskeins will eat anything,” Newt said, peering down to look, “it could be a piece of a pie or a shoe or a—” He bent closer. It wasn’t any of those things—it was a scrap of black velvet.

“What is it?”

“Modesty?” Newt said, trying to keep his tone even—there was no point in scaring the girl all over again. “See if you can find a little pouch for me. It’s made out of this black velvet.” He tugged the scrap out of the puffskein’s mouth and held it up. “You mustn’t touch what is inside but we need it to escape. Put on your shoes, first.”

“Is it a key?” Modesty asked as she pulled on her shoes.

“Of a sort,” Newt replied, peering under the dresser. _A key to home, a key to Percy._

He searched under the armoire and then behind the bookcase. Modesty looked under the bed and then under the vanity. They found nothing and Newt was still kneeling on the floor, wondering if the puffskein could have eaten the whole pouch when the doorknob rattled.

Newt jumped up and held his hand out. “Modesty,” he whispered, “come here.”

Modesty hurried to Newt’s side. He wrapped his arm around her thin shoulder.

The door opened and for the first time, it wasn’t Ronnok but the one called Kenhelm and another wizard.

“There you are,” Kenhelm said unctuously. “Right were we put you.”

Newt frowned. “Where else would we be?” The other wizard—longhaired and grey-eyed—was staring at Modesty in the most disturbing way.

Kenhelm ignored Newt and turned to the dresser. He waved his wand and in place of the miserable tea tray, a three-tiered rack full of cakes and treats appeared. “Much better,” he said. “Fit for a lady.”

“And what lady would that be?” Newt asked, not bothering to mask his belligerent tone. He had finally put memory to face—Kenhelm wasn’t a stranger. He had been one of the wizards that had been playing with the body in the drawing room. “Because it can’t be me.”

Kenhelm grinned and then pocketed the key. He came inside the room. “No, I wasn’t talking to you, though I have heard stories… I was talking to the young miss.”

The other wizard followed, a breath behind Kenhelm, his gaze never wavering from Modesty.

Newt stilled. “And why would you be interested in talking to a child?”

Kenhelm looked up at Newt and gave him an odd smile. “We were thinking, Shunpike and I, that you haven’t been outside this room in days. Shunpike has agreed to take you out for a spell while I guard the girl.”

Newt tugged Modesty closer, using his own body as a shield. “That’s very kind of you,” he said, “but I’m tired. Maybe we’ll go for a walk tomorrow.”

“I’m afraid,” Kenhelm said, his smile oozing from his face, “that you have no say in the matter. You will go for your walk. It will be all right. You’ll see.” He got out his wand and stepped closer.

Modesty squeezed Newt’s hand so hard it almost hurt. He picked her up, his gaze never leaving the other wizard’s. “You’ll leave this room and you’ll leave her be. I—”

He never got to finish his threat—with a pop and a whistle, Ronnok apparated into the room.

She looked around, taking in the scene, and then hissed, “What is going on?”

Shunpike quickly made the treats disappear while Kenhelm smiled, sickly sweet. “The young man was just asking for a bit of tim—”

“He’s lying,” Newt interrupted tightly. “He wanted me out of the room so he could be alone with the girl. They both did.”

“I knew it,” Ronnok said.

“This is not your concern, Ronnok,” Kenhelm sneered. “Go back to your scrying stone.”

Ronnok drew herself up. “I knew it was a mistake allowing you into the coven. You and your friend…” She glanced at Shunpike. “…will leave immediately.”

It was Shunpike who answered, elbowing Kenhelm out of the way. “That will never happen, old witch.”

Ronnok smiled. “And why not?”

“Because I’ve been in contact with our American frien—”

“Quiet, you fool!” Ronnok hissed with a backwards glance at Newt.

Shunpike curled his lip. “Scamander’s not stupid. He knows he’s never going to leave here on his own two feet. All your machinations and intrigues… If you had followed your orders from the very beginning, we would not be in this—”

Ronnok raised her wand. “You go too far.”

Shunpike answered by raising his own wand. “I do, do I?”

His heart beating thick in his chest, Newt backed up towards the bed. The wizards had slowly separated, Kenhelm towards the bookcase and Shunpike over to the window. Ronnok was standing in the middle. There was no way she could attack both at once.

“Newt,” Modesty whispered. “Look!”

Tearing his gaze from the unfolding drama, he followed Modesty’s nod to the open door.

The hall was dark, but the room was not and the light spilled out, revealing the ugly tapestries in all their questionable glory. More importantly, it revealed his little friend the spotted puffskein cowering by a broken bucket. And by the puffskein was…

A plan forming instantly, Newt muttered, “Modesty, you need to get that pouch. When you do, open it and touch the pin inside. It will take you away from here.”

“But—”

He backed up again, this time inching towards the left. Kenhelm was now too close to the door and Newt adjusted his sketchy plan. “I can’t hold them off out there, so you need to go alone. Hopefully, they’ll be too engrossed in each other to disapparate out. I’ll follow, I promise.”

“But—”

“I might have to toss you.”

Ronnok had heard their whispers and started to turn but Shunpike made his move. With a shout, he cast a spell, the arcing fire hitting Ronnok straight on the shoulder. Ronnok screamed and responded.

As white fire flew about the room, Newt leaped. Kenhelm saw him at the same time and pivoted. With a, “So sorry,” Newt tossed Modesty into the hall and then slammed the door shut. Pressed against the wood, he was whispering, “One dragon’s breath, two dragon’s breaths, three…” when the trio turned their assault on him.

The spells burned his back and legs, the pain slipping through his defenses and weakening his will. He held out as long as he could but it was only a few seconds before he crumpled to the floor. Even then he did his best, slumped against the door in an effort to stall even further. Someone disapparated out while another dragged him back and opened the door.

There was no one in the hall; no Modesty and no puffskein—even the bucket was gone. Ignoring the pain, Newt rolled to his back. Ronnok and the two other wizards were staring down at him, all panting with rage. “Well,” he said with a smile, “at least there’s that.”

Ronnok raised her wand.

Newt smiled again and in the brief moment between Ronnok growling the spell and casting it, he had time to wonder once more, _Percy, are you coming?_

***

This time Newt woke to cold, the sound of nothing, and the smell of burning wood.

Alarmed, he pushed up, remembering his injuries too late. His hand hurt much more than it had and his back and legs felt as if they had been torched. He waited for the pain to dissipate, then glanced around.

The room wasn’t on fire. Well, most of it wasn’t. Blast marks covered the walls and the ceiling, the bedclothes were scorched and the dresser and bookcase were destroyed, all damage speaking of a second battle. The air was also freezing; whatever spell had heated the place was clearly gone because he could see his own breath and his ears were numb.

Newt grabbed the doorframe and started to get up, only then seeing the body by the vanity. He crawled to her and gently turned her over.

Ronnok was dead. Her eyes were wide open and there was a blackened hole in the middle of her breast where her heart should have been. Newt had seen similar wounds during the war, a product of combined wand blasts. He touched her cold hand. She had done horrible things but who knew what horrible things had been done to her? She’d once been a young girl, just like Modesty.

He was crying, he realized, and he swallowed his grief. There was no time for sadness or sorrow or anything but survival. He stood up. The room swayed and black dots danced all about. He waited, hands out for balance until his vision cleared.

In the corridor, there were no signs of a fight but it didn’t ease his mind and he crept along, hugging the wall as best he could. He didn’t have to go far. Modesty’s room was much closer to the great hall and when he got to the head of the stairs, he peered down. It was silent but he’d made that mistake before and he started down, doing so with extreme caution.

He’d gone halfway when he realized there was no need for caution or anything like it. A small war had taken place in the hall and below were the bodies as proof.

Two witches were lying by the drawing room and another was sitting on a bench. Two wizards were draped over each other near the center of the room, a third was lying in a mound of drifting snow in the huge entry, his body holding the door open. There were burn marks everywhere and the air smelled of magic and burned flesh.

Gingerly approaching the two wizards, Newt examined them. Neither were Kenhelm or Shunpike. He crouched and looked for their wands. He found none. Nor did he find any on the witch on the bench or the two by the drawing room. Panic rising, he stumbled to the wizard at the front door and knelt in the snow, scrabbling all around. It was the sound of his own labored breathing that finally stopped his frantic search. He slumped over. The wands were gone, which meant that someone had the foresight to take them. Maybe as war mementos or just greed, the wands were gone and Newt thought he might cry again.

He wiped his nose and stood up. The room tipped again, only now more violently and he grabbed the door with his bad hand. The pain was agonizingly sharp and he gasped, bending over as if that would do any good.

Giving it a moment, allowing the pain to ease, Newt straightened up and went back to the drawing room. It was more or less intact. The fire was out, a standing candelabra was on its side and the leaded glass window had been smashed. On the divan was another witch, much younger than all the rest. She was on her back and staring up at nothing. A throw covered her, the kind his mother always used in the winter months. He drew it off and wrapped it around his shoulders. It smelled vile but it was warm and it made him feel a bit better.

He went in search of the kitchen. He found it, along several narrow corridors and then down two short staircases. It clearly hadn’t been used in years, maybe decades because the corners and surfaces were thick with cobwebs and dust, and the only sign of life was a rat that had scurried into a corner when he had crossed the threshold. With little hope, but needing to do it anyway, he went through the kitchen cupboards, finally giving it up as a lost cause. So, no food except for the rat and its possible kin, but just the idea of trying to catch the animal made him tired.

More slowly than he’d come, Newt went back to the great hall and stopped in the middle.

He was so tired. His hand and back hurt. He was hungry and what had he been thinking, turning his nose up at the food provided by Ronnok? Yes, it could have been bewitched or poisoned but if that were to be his fate, wouldn’t it have been better to have it happen sooner rather than later?

A small but sharp pain nudged through his daze and he looked down. Without meaning to, he’d clenched his uninjured hand. He stared at his palm, now marked with an uneven row of half-moon impressions, remembering: _‘And what about this one? The one shaped like a half moon?’_

As if he were back at the cottage, he heard it again, Percy’s soft question. Newt couldn’t remember his own response, but he clearly remembered Percy’s, the shuttered look of mirrored pain and the, _‘I’m sorry, Newt. I wish I’d been there. I could have helped you.’_ It had been a surprise and Newt, never one for subterfuge or false modesty, had just told the truth, that Percy had always been by his side throughout his adventures.

That had been the first time he’d made love to Percy. Well, the first and the last, and here in the hall surrounded by death, he finally faced the thing he’d been avoiding for almost two months—that Percy cared for him, but only so far and maybe not enough.

Percy’s family, MACUSA, the wizarding world in general—they’d all hooked Percy’s soul a long, long time ago and was there anything left?

_‘He needs proof of his own sanity and absolution for the crimes he never committed. So, for now, we shall play along.’_

It was obvious, now when it didn’t matter. Dumbledore had been right and so very wrong. It had been right to follow the professor’s advice, but wrong to let it go on so long. As hard as it would have been, he should have just summoned the courage and stormed Percy’s figurative castle and demanded, _Shall I stay or go because we’re growing apart and we never had a chance to grow together and I can’t stand it._ Even if it wouldn’t have solved anything, he should have tried. But no, he did what he always did, skate around, subsume, ignore.

And here he was with no way home and no way to let anyone know where he was and even that wasn’t quite so awful except he had a sinking feeling that if anyone from MACUSA _was_ coming for him, they would have done so days ago.

So, the only decision wasn’t really a decision at all. He refused to stay a minute more in this gray fortress. If he was going to die, he was going to do so on his own terms in a place that didn’t stink of blood and terror.

Determined, he dropped the shawl and went to one of the wizards and purloined the man’s cloak. He’d make for the lighthouse and if it was locked, he’d keep walking until he could walk no more.

Feeling as if he’d overlooked a crucial fragment of logic, Newt drew the cloak over his shoulders and then strode towards the door.

***

 _This was a mistake,_ Newt thought as he blundered through the snow, the sharp sleet stinging his face. The ground had looked so benign from two floors up and he should have known better. He’d visited every environment known to wizardkind and he should have known how fast the weather could turn.

He looked over his shoulder. He could no longer see the castle—the snowfall was too thick. It swirled and blew, almost as if it were grey smoke and not crystals of frozen water.

Covering his head with a fold of the cloak, he continued on, but yes, this was probably a mistake.

***

Later, Newt was to marvel at his own stupidity and his own luck. Most people paid the ultimate price when they did something so foolish. Most people never had the chance for luck. But fortune was with him and he was leaning into the wind, fingers and feet numb, when his boot hit something hard. He stumbled and fell onto an unyielding surface. He reached out and followed it blindly. It was a brick path, he realized. A brick path that hopefully led to the lighthouse.

Hunched over, he followed the path until the snow cleared, revealing the looming lighthouse. Wanting to shout but too weak to open his mouth, Newt staggered up the steps and fumbled for the door handle. It didn’t budge and he tried again. Leaning back, he summoned his strength and shouted, “ _Hello!_ ”

The only reply was the soughing wind and the rustling snow. He turned, intending to set off again, per his plan. Instead, he dropped to the stoop, his back to the door. It hurt but he didn’t care that it hurt. He didn’t care that he was cold. He was just so very tired and he wrapped the cloak around him and sighed.

The snow was actually very pretty. With endless patterns that formed and reformed and then formed again, he could watch it all day. He held his ruined hand up to, almost smiling as the moisture settled onto his palm and soothed the ruined flesh.

Tipping his head, he looked up. The white of the snow had given way to the black dots of before. Both mixed together to form a tapestry of grey that flowed and danced. He should probably be concerned—if his vision was starting to go, that meant his faculties were shutting down.

But that was all right, too. In his shelter of white stone, the world had turned quiet, as if a nothing had covered everything with its nothingness, causing everything to still, even time itself.

Time was such an odd thing, Newt mused with a rueful smile, blinking away the snow. He’d always felt a little sorry for Muggles because time was everything to them—scurrying to get to that appointment or to that shop, worrying that time was running out or that there was too much of it. They’d even built monuments to time, huge clock towers that loomed and chided, constantly reminding everyone who was the true lord and master.

But now Newt understood because the Muggles had been right—time was precious. He’d had so much of it and he’d squandered all the lax moments, spending them instead of truly living them. All the things he’d been fretting over—Tina and Queenie, even Grindelwald—they had been pointless exercises because when all was said and done, there was only one thing, one _person,_ that mattered.

Regret filled his chest even as a fatalistic calm soothed his pain.

He knew he should get up and keep moving but it really was so quiet here. Quiet and nice and he was still smiling when the black overran the white, covered his face and body with a warmth that was almost like a second cloak. He sank into it as it sank into him and with another deep sigh, he closed his eyes.


	4. The Black Crow

Book IV—The Black Crow

 

 

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“You’re kneeling on my hand.”

Percy started and then shifted so Tina could roll free. “I’m sorry, Goldstein.”

“It’s all right,” Tina answered. “Considering…” She smiled wanly.

Percy helped Tina up, agreeing silently, _‘Yes, considering.’_

Considering that when his alarm at the Second Salem church had gone off, he and Jacob had been taking care of the animals and it was only Dougal’s cry that had told him something was wrong. Considering that when he, Tina, and Seraphina had arrived inside the church, they found Redde in a huddle by the stairs and two of Grindelwald’s lackeys whisking away a young girl while a third attacked from above.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Tina straightened her hat. “I am.” She turned and craned her head, looking up. “That looks painful.”

Percy followed her gaze. His spell had caught the third wizard in the chest and throat, and then in the back when the man spun with the force of the charge. The wizard was draped backwards over the railing, a grotesque sight because a body wasn’t supposed to bend that way. If Newt was here, he’d be able to tell Percy exactly what bones had been broken.

If Newt was here.

Gloom, Percy’s new, constant companion, leaned heavy on his shoulders once more. It had been over four days now and reassurances from his mother and Albus aside, he was starting to lose—

“Graves,” Seraphina said. “Can you turn that blasted thing off?”

Percy glanced at Seraphina. She nodded to the child’s music box sitting on a table near the front of the church. He hadn’t even realized it was still playing and he waved his hand and murmured, “ _Evanesco_.” The box disappeared.

“Thank you,” Seraphina sighed. “Where did you send it?”

“To my office. I’ll examine it shortly.” He went to help Redde up. Her forehead was bloody. “All right?” he asked.

Redde nodded. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“There was nothing you could have done. You were outnumbered.”

Redde nodded again but Percy could see she didn’t quite believe him.

“Get to the infirmary; we’ll clean up here.”

Redde frowned glumly, then disapparated out.

Seraphina went to what was left of one of the windows and leaned to look out.

“Be careful, ma’am,” Tina said.

“I’m fine,” Seraphina answered. “Did you notice that the younger wizard touched his Order of Merlin before he disapparated?”

Tina shook her head but Percy answered, “I did. It was clearly a portkey.” And he wouldn’t still be standing here chatting if the dead wizard had the same because he would have used it in an instant. The wand blasts had been too violent, however, and the wizard’s torso was burned to a crisp.

“Graves?” Seraphina said, still gazing up through the window, “How many times is this church going to be destroyed and then rebuilt, do you think?”

Percy refrained from saying that as it was MACUSA that would be doing the rebuilding, it would be at least once more. “If we’re done here, ma’am, I need to get to the office.”

“And I can hear the no-maj sirens,” Tina added.

Percy cocked his head. He could hear them now, too, a thready wail that faded in and out.

“I’ll meet you both in your office, Graves.” Seraphina raised her wand. “One hour.” She waved her wand and was gone.

Flexing his fingers towards the ruined vestibule, Percy said, “I can take care of this, Goldstein. Why don’t you go get some coffee.”

Before he could begin, though, Tina stepped forward with an urgent, “Sir?”

“Yes?”

Tina looked around though there was no one else in sight. “I need to talk to you,” she whispered. “Can we go somewhere first?” She shifted from foot to foot. “It’s important.”

Percy hesitated. He really wanted to pop back to the house and check on the newly-hatched occamies and then visit his mother. But Tina was watching him with worried eyes, so he nodded. “We’ll finish this together and meet in the alley across from MACUSA.”

“It should be someplace more private.”

Percy hesitated, then said, “You’ve been to Newt’s rooms, yes?”

Tina tightened her lips and then nodded slowly.

“We’ll meet there.” He raised his hands; the no-maj sirens were no longer thready. “And hurry—they’re almost here.”

***

They finished just as a no-maj police vehicle pulled up in front of the church. Apparating out and then into the apartment, Percy arrived a bare moment from Tina.

The place looked as it should and he tested the wards he’d set days ago. They hummed in response as Tina popped into view. She gasped and then bent over, her hand to her mouth.

Remembering a similar circumstance on the ice-covered bridge, Percy touched her shoulder. “Give it a minute—I set a repel charm.” Not the same words, but the same pose and he drew back and stepped away. He’d been so distant that night. Newt had tried to explain, but he hadn’t listened, instead pushing Newt away each time. It was just that he’d been so very angry, seeing Newt dancing with Tina in that dive. Even now, over a week later, he could feel the burn of a surprising jealousy that had—

“Sir?”

He cleared his throat. “Sorry, yes.” He sat on the back of the sofa. “You had something to tell me?”

Tina hesitated, then pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and silently gave it to Percy.

It was a drawing, a spidery architectural rendering of a room. Next to the sketch was a list of spells; below that was a list of magical herbs. It took Percy a moment to realize that the drawing was an overview of Seraphina’s office and the lists were possible potions and charms that would bypass locks.

“Sir?” Tina said. “I thought it was time we tried one of Grindelwald’s portkeys. Sir.”

The second ‘sir,’ made Percy look up. Tina was literally wringing her hands and he wondered what she thought he was going to do to her for suggesting such a thing. He sighed. “It’s good thinking, Goldstein, but a little late.”

“No, see it’s not,” Tina insisted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been watching and—”

“I tried to break in yesterday.”

Tina’s jaw dropped. “You did?”

Percy smiled ruefully. “Madam Picquery caught me. To say she was furious would be the understatement of the year.” It had been a long time since he’d seen Seraphina that angry. He was lucky she hadn’t thrown him in jail. “She ported the keys over to Gringott’s. Even I can’t break in there.”

Tina’s shoulders slumped. “So that’s why she’s been so mean to you.”

He gave Tina the parchment. “I wouldn’t say ‘mean.’ She’s definitely not happy with me.” He folded his hands together. “I think she’s mostly worried.”

“Because of what happened with your mother?”

He glanced up at her. “Queenie told you?”

Tina shrugged and then nodded. “She was pretty shaken by that divination.” She smiled. “And she’s never been able to lie to me. Sorry, sir.”

“It’s all right. I should have told you, but it’s been…” He trailed off, unable to explain or excuse.

“Is that why Auror Scamander returned to England?”

“It is.” That, and to make sure their counterparts in Finland, Norway, and Sweden were telling the truth when they’d said they’d found no trace of one Newton Scamander, but he couldn’t tell Tina that. He’d caught her poring over maps of Greenland the other day. She was as stubborn as Newt and he didn’t want to go searching for another lost lamb. “And why Professor Dumbledore has stayed. He’s trying to unravel the clues from the divinations.”

“I understand.”

He smiled because she clearly didn’t. “It’s a good thing one of us does.” He stood up. “I need to see my mother.” He paused. One of his hard and fast rules was no workplace fraternization but he was so tired of rules and regulations. “She’s in there.” He nodded to the unlatched suitcase sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed. “Do you want to come?”

Tina pocketed the drawing. “Yes.”

***

The animals greeted Percy with various hoots and honks and chirps. He made way for a dung beetle and ducked as the mock phoenix flew overhead. When they got to the house, he held the door open for Tina and they went inside.

As always, being in the house eased and increased the pressure in his chest. A check and balance that should cancel each other out but didn’t because it felt wrong being in the house without Newt. He reminded himself that it was his home, too, when something wrapped around his leg. He looked down in time to see Dougal appear. “Hello,” Percy said.

Dougal smiled sadly, his eyes a colorless shade of grey.

“It will be all right,” Percy assured Dougal, bending over to stroke his head. “We’ll find him.”

“Sir?”

Percy turned. Tina was still standing in the doorway to the living room. “Yes?”

Tina gestured. “Is this new?”

“Oh,” Percy replied as he straightened up. He was starting to lose track of who knew what and when and how. “I think he created it last year.”

“Oh.” Tina touched the stack of parchments on the side table that Newt was forever saying he would move but never had. “Queenie didn’t tell me.”

“I—” Percy searched for something to say because he was tired and just remembered that he shouldn’t be so familiar with Newt’s house. Fortunately, he was saved by a friendly, “There you are.”

It was Jacob, coming from the kitchen. He was wearing Newt’s apron and his shirtsleeves were rolled up as if he’d been doing the dishes. Pickett was in his apron pocket, his arms crossed. “Dougal and your ma have been worried.” He glanced at Tina. “Hey, Teen.”

Tina nodded as Percy said, “Where is she?”

“Out there.” Jacob jerked his head towards the rear of the house, then added in a whisper, “The other guy, the professor, is here. Is that okay?”

Percy nodded. “It’s fine.” He turned to go, then paused. “You don’t have to wash up, Jacob.”

Jacob shrugged and glanced at Tina again. “It’s okay. It calms me down, you know?”

Percy thought about that, then nodded. “I do. I’ll be back soon.”

“Wait…” Jacob grabbed Percy’s arm. “What happened out there? Did you find Newt?”

In the beginning, Jacob’s familiarity had been a little irritating but now Percy found it oddly comforting and so he just said, “No, we didn’t find him. Tina can fill you in.”

Jacob nodded and Pickett stuck out his tongue.

***

Dougal followed Percy across the living room to the French doors and then out to the piazza that overlooked a dark meadow. His mother and Albus were sitting at a small table near a potted _Alchemilla vulgaris_. They were having tea.

“I don’t have much time,” Percy said as he sat down. “I just wanted to see how you were. Why are you out here? It’s cold.” His mother poured him a cup and Albus put some cookies and a few small sandwiches on a plate and pushed it towards him.

“I needed a bit of fresh air,” his mother replied.

“Do you want me to raise the temperature?”

“No, thank you.”

“By your very glum expression,” Albus said, “I take it the worst happened.”

Percy nodded. Newt had installed torches around the patio and the dancing light highlighted the curves and dips of Albus’s face, giving him an almost demonic expression. “It did.” He took a sip of tea; it was one of Newt’s favorites, a chamomile from India. “They have the girl.”

Albus sighed and Percy’s mother frowned.

The sandwich was butter and lettuce and it tasted so good that Percy ate it in one go. “Did Jacob make these?”

His mother nodded. “He said it helps him relax.”

“A lot of things do that, apparently. I caught him dusting the niffler’s nest the other day.” Percy gave Dougal a cookie. “So, yes, they have the girl which means we need to figure out what to do next.”

“By now, Seraphina will have informed the ICW.” Albus sat back in his chair. “It’s too bad you couldn’t have latched onto the girl. At the very least, you could have found out where young Newt is.”

“I couldn’t get to them in time.” His mother’s frown deepened and Percy shrugged. He didn’t care that it would have been dangerous; it would have been better than this endless waiting. “It’s been four days, Mother.”

“I realize that.”

All their communiqués with MACUSA’s offices and their acquaintances in the northern countries had proven useless. “He could be anywhere.”

“I know.”

“If only—”

He expected another frown, but she just reached out and touched his hand. “I know, son, but we must proceed carefully.”

He knew that look. “What has Grindelwald done now?”

“Nothing,” she said, “and that’s what has us worried.”

“He’s up to something,” Albus said. “He’s been gloating all evening and not bothering to hide it.”

Percy thought he should be terrified, but after everything that had happened, he could only muster a slight alarm.

“What about the obscurus?” his mother asked after a moment.

Percy fed Dougal another cookie. The tea was applying its own particular brand of magic and he was feeling a bit better. Before he met Newt, he wasn’t fond of tea; now, however… “We’re not sure. The wizards that took the girl also had a bag.”

“Which could hold anything,” his mother said.

Percy nodded. “The girl’s clothes, food. A head.”

“Percival!” his mother exclaimed, her eyebrows raised in shock.

He smiled, just barely. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

She gave him a look, but only murmured, “Hm.” Albus said nothing.

Allowing himself one last sandwich, Percy got up. “I need to get back. Seraphina is waiting.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to rest a moment more?” his mother asked. “You’ve been working non-stop.”

“I’m fine.”

His mother glanced down at his suit. “At least take a minute to change.”

He followed her gaze. It was dark but there was enough light to see that his vest was stained and one of his lapels was scorched. Without a word, he waved his hand and repaired the suit. “I’ll wash later.” Neither Albus nor his mother responded. He glanced at them both, vaguely wondering what he was missing, then left the room. Dougal stayed behind and Percy could feel a weight on the back of his neck as if their combined gazes were a physical thing.

***

The meeting with Seraphina was a too long, pointless encounter where she asked questions that couldn’t be answered and made assumptions that Percy thought were injudicious leaps of logic. They wrapped up at ten and Percy retreated to his office where he sat and tried to think and plan, but really only stared nothing until his eyes grew scratchy and tired.

At a bit before midnight, he got up and left the office.

Days ago, he’d set up a sort of camp in the suitcase house, mostly to be near his mother but also to be close to the animals in case they needed him. But when he apparated to Newt’s apartment, he stood there a moment, looking all around. Always sensitive to the moods of places, he told himself that the apartment wasn’t sad because Newt was gone, it was just his imagination. Still, he couldn’t help but feel that the wood and tile and even the air itself was thick and heavy with accusations along the lines of, _‘Why didn’t you’s’_ and _‘You could have’s’_

Knowing he should tell his mother he was back but too downcast to bother, Percy went to the small bathroom and washed up. He changed into his pajamas, the ones Newt had bought for him with no-maj dollars because, ‘ _I want to buy you things and Muggle money is somehow more real.’_ Percy had accepted the gift, feeling as if he should respond in kind but unable to.

 _‘You should have,’_ he thought as he turned off the electric light and got into bed. _‘It would have been such an easy thing.’_ He rolled to his back and stared up at the ceiling.

He felt his chest, felt the solid weight of his own body pressing into the mattress. It was so strange. Over the last four days, he’d experienced events in odd and disjointed moments, as if he was constantly appearing and disappearing into and out of his own life. One moment he was dispassionately observing the events around him, the next he was actually living them.

He’d experienced something very similar before and like then, he wondered if he was going mad. If Albus were here, he’d roll his eyes and say something like, _‘Of course you’re not going mad, you fool. You’re simply worried, as are we all.’_

Simple worry, Percy thought. Simple worry was the ocean he now navigated, the food he now ate, and the air he now breathed. Simple worry was the all-consuming everything and it was possible that imaginary Albus was wrong. It was quite possible that grief and regret would finish the job that Grindelwald had started. And if that were true, did it follow that it would be better to have never started this journey at all?

He stopped his own thoughts, unwilling to go down that path, mostly because he was too tired. He closed his eyes—if he couldn’t solve the puzzle of Newt, he could at least sleep.

***

As if it had been waiting all along, the dream caught him as soon as he dropped off and he fell and fell and…

_He’s walking through the white mist again, searching. He knows who he’s searching for but he can’t make his mouth work to call out, can’t quite focus on a face or form. It should be easy, this thing he’s trying to do but even as he thinks that very thing, the thought disappears and he’s wandering with no purpose or intent and—_

_…abruptly, the dream changes and the mist falls back. He’s in a bedroom. It’s a girl’s room: the white walls are covered with tapestries of unicorns and paintings of landscapes. The balcony doors are open and it’s so cold, his breath turns to vapor. The white mist blends with the vapor, going in instead of out. It trickles down his throat. Choking, his eyes watering, he falls to his knees, palms flat on the floor._

_Something silky slides over the back of his fingers and he doesn’t want to look but does anyway. Expecting a laughing snake, he’s surprised to see the cold thing is his mother’s glass. It’s not the new one but the old one, the one gifted to her by her mother’s mother._

_Sitting back on his heels, Percy picks up the glass. He cradles it in his palms and bends over it, a pose that comes as natural as breathing. The orb is milky and a little ugly but it feels good against his palms, as if it had been made for him. The feeling sinks in, through skin and muscle and bone. He waits, throat tight, anxious because this has to work, he has to_ see…

_Nothing happens and quick anger builds. The glass grows heavy and then hot, the cloudy depths reflecting orange fire, and he closes his eyes. He wants to rage and burn and—_

_—and then not as cool hands cup his own._ There you are, _he thinks, joy and happiness filling his empty chest and he opens his eyes. Only it’s not the young man with red-gold hair, it's a girl. She’s wearing a white nightgown and a yellow robe and her solemn eyes are as dark as the night._

_Percy swallows because he knows it’s a dream but it doesn’t matter and he tries to speak the girl’s name. He can’t, so he tries again. Still nothing and she leans forward. She smiles and says without opening her mouth, ‘It’s all right. It’s all right but you need to see.’_

_He’s crying now, weeping because, yes, it’s a dream but he never got a chance to apologize, never got the chance to say goodbye and he’d give anything to be able to—_

_In an instant they’re out of the room and standing in the rushes that border a flat-water pond. He’s no longer holding the orb and the air is filled with the buzz of insects and a voice that fades in and out. The twin noises become a drone and then a deafening pandemonium. He winces and starts to cover his ears but the girl takes his hands and when she speaks, her voice filled with a deep urgency,_ ‘It will be all right, Percy, it truly will, but please, you must—’

With a jerk and gasp, Percy sat up. Taking a breath, hearing it echo the dream, he felt his chest and then throat. He touched his eyes. He really was crying and he scrubbed the wet away as he heard it again, the sound of his sister’s voice.

When he was younger, he used to dream every night. As he got older, the frequency diminished. It was only after meeting Newt that the night visions reappeared but he had never dreamed of his sister and he whispered roughly, “Dindrane.”

There was, of course, no answer and he got up and went over to the window. He pushed the sash up. The cold May air blew away the dream and cooled his hot eyes. He rested his head against the window frame and thought.

Normally, his dreams faded as soon as he opened his eyes, but this one didn’t. He could still see the scar on Dindrane’s chin from the time she’d saved him from tumbling down the steep attic stairs. He could still see the faint floral decoration on her robe and he suddenly remembered how much she had loved yellows and greens, so much so that Father had always called her, ‘ _My little buttercup.’_

So, a dream that possibly wasn’t a dream. His mother and grandmother sometimes dreamt of coming events but he never had. Which meant it could be the product of exhaustion. Or maybe he was losing hope and grasping at straws. Or, maybe it was just that the divinations had sparked something deep inside, something so dormant he’d never known it existed.

Percy tested the notion, searching for fear or denial and finding only truth. He needed to act and act now; Dindrane’s insistence, the pond… If he were to take the dream at its most literal, there could only be one interpretation and thus, only one way to respond.

He should probably tell someone of the dream and his new direction. Both his mother and Albus would advise caution; Theseus, however, would understand. Newt would, too.

Swallowing hard, Percy got up and waved his hand. In a flash, he was dressed and ready to go, his plan forming just as quickly.

***

He first apparated to Greyfield, flying in ragged jumps to arrive inside his old bedroom. He gave the room only a cursory glance, promising himself that when this worked, he’d bring Newt here. He found his old school satchel in the wardrobe, then crept out to the hall. He was quiet but whenever his parents were away, the portraits grew bored and nosy. As he hurried down the hall towards his mother’s workroom, they all woke up.

“You there—boy!” the portrait of his great-great-great-great-uncle Huritt called out. “What do you think you are doing?”

Percy paused. He always liked this particular uncle even though he’d had trouble with his accent when he was young. “I don’t have time to talk, Uncle.”

“Does your mother and father know you are here sneaking around?”

“They do.” Percy went to stand before the painting. It was one of those romantic landscapes from the early part of the nineteenth century. The artist had painted his uncle in full warrior regalia and posed him on a cement bench near a large urn full of fruits and foliage. In the background, stags and does bounded among the trees. “And I’m not sneaking.”

“Hmph,” Uncle Huritt said, crossing his arms over his chest. “It seemed as if you were.” He inspected Percy from top to bottom. “But you’re no child anymore, are you? You’ve grown into a fine man. How old are you now?”

“Forty-two, Uncle. I can’t stay. Somebody is waiting for me.”

“It’s not yet sun up, your parents aren’t at home and you’re wearing a traveling coat,” Huritt said, eyeing Percy with a sharp eye. “I remember such times when you and your sister were young and you two would go off on adventures. She is still very mischievous.”

Already turning, Percy stopped in his tracks. “She ‘is’? Have you seen her?”

“By your tone, I take it you haven’t.” Huritt bobbed his head. “You need to open your eyes, boy. Only then can you truly see. And,” Huritt said before Percy could ask again, “yes, of course I have seen her.” He nodded to the other portraits. “We all have.”

Percy thought about that, then asked, “And Mother?”

Huritt shrugged. “Little Chilam talks to your sister when your father isn’t around.”

Percy frowned against the painful image of his mother talking to his dead sister.

“It is not a sorrowful thing, Percival,” Huritt said, his voice gentling. “It is only sad if you do not accept it.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll think on that.”

“Make sure you do.” Huritt nodded and then leaned his elbow on the hard couch and made a shooing gesture. “Go on with you. When you return from your adventure, come see me again.” He yawned. “And remember, even with our powers, a sharp knife is a valuable companion.”

Percy bowed his head, a sign of respect he hadn’t given anyone in a long time. “Thank you, Uncle.”

But Huritt, eyes shut tight, was already asleep.

***

Taken aback by the conversation, Percy had to try twice to open his mother’s workroom door. Finally, the lock gave way and he pushed the door open.

Full of plentiful tools of her trade, his mother’s room had always fascinated him. Now, he barely gave the stuffed crow a second glance as he went to the Florentine armoire and opened it up. There, where it should be, rested the small chest. Casting a modified _lumos_ spell, he waited until the ball of fire had grown to the size of his fist, then peered down.

The chest was old, brought over when the first Graves family sailed from England. As an acknowledgement of the blending of the two bloodlines, the first Gondulphus had given the chest to his bride’s family. Her father and brother had added to the decorations, carving the great eagle, the turtle and the spread-limbed tree on the sides and lid of the box. It was his mother’s most cherished possession, a representation of the old life and the new. She’d always let him look but never touch, and now, very delicately, he unlatched the clasp and slowly lifted the lid.

Inside, nesting in a pool of garnet-colored velvet was his mother’s second-most cherished possession—her ancestor’s orbuculum.

It wasn’t anything like modern orbs. It had, according to his mother, been cut by axe from pure crystal retrieved from the Algonquin Mountains and polished with sand from the Mohawk. Percy had always listened to the stories with a certain cynicism. Now, picking the sphere up and holding it to the light, he was overcome by a wash of fear and awe. This orb had foretold the rise of Jackson and then the arrival of the scourers, Gladhooke and Palmer. It had guided the newly-formed Congress to Virginia after the no-maj communities began to work together and then attack together.

“I hope you can help me,” he muttered to the orb. He thought it answered with a flash of light, but that could have been his imagination.

Covering it with the velvet, he carefully put it in the satchel and then just as carefully, closed the chest and put it back.

He had one more stop and then he could be on his way, and he lifted his wand and the satchel. And then he paused, and changed direction, apparating not back home, but down to the disused scullery that was now his father’s armory. Quickly, he chose one of his father’s Bowie knives, the one with the six-inch blade and stained leather grip and then went to the bench that held his father’s sharpening tools.

Ignoring the tools, he traced the old wall with his fingertips, searching for the brick engraved with the image of the long bow. He finally found it, then tracked two over and one down. He pulled on the brick, revealing a space no deeper than his fingers. Any other cavity would be moldy and damp, but it was as dry as the day his father had made it. Inside, as it should be, was a slim book. The cover was worn from use and the pages a little brittle, but Percy found the spell easily. It was written in greyed ink that had once been red. On the sides of the page were drawings that as a child, he’d thought were illustrations of the spell’s power until his father had told him that, no, it was just that his great-grandfather had liked to doodle.

The knife held flat in his hand, he murmured the Fly True incantation. The knife shivered and the blade glowed orange as the spell settled in.

Done, Percy tucked the knife in his gaiter and then interred the book once more. He drew a deep breath and, the satchel clutched tight in his hand, he raised his wand.

***

The apartment was dark and he hurried to the suitcase and then knelt and called down in a loud whisper, “Dougal?” He waited, hearing nothing. He tried again, this time louder, “Dougal!”

This time there was a response and he heard the floorboards down in the office creak. In a moment, pink-eyed Dougal was climbing out of the suitcase.

Percy forced a smile. “You know why I’m here, yes?”

Dougal nodded.

“I need your help, Dougal, but it’s your choice. You can come or stay.” He hesitated. “Do you understand?”

“Oh, he understands,” came a voice from the living room. “The question is, do you?”

Percy turned so quickly, he fell on his backside. He sighed. “You just like doing that, don’t you?”

“Of course, I do.” Theseus got up from the sofa and strolled over. “Just as you like being stubborn and stupid.”

Percy closed the suitcase lid and then got to his knees. “What are you doing here, Theseus?”

“What do you think? I get an owl first from your mother and then Albus, both telling me that you’re about to do something spectacularly foolish, both asking me to stop you.” Theseus came over and sat on the end of the bed. “I wouldn’t be so mad if they would have just coordinated their owls.” He crossed his legs. “And if you would just ask for my help now and then.”

Percy sat back on his heels. “I asked for your help last week.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Percy gazed at Theseus, finally seeing the hurt under the bland _I-don’t-have-a-care_ mien. “It will be dangerous.”

“Please.”

“And I don’t know what I’ll find.”

“I know.”

“Thee—”

“It’s Newt, Percy,” Thee interrupted, frowning at his clenched fists. “I know I always complain about him, but I can’t—” He swallowed and then shook his head. “You know.”

Academic knowledge that someone was in pain was always so very removed and easy. Firsthand knowledge on the other hand, was altogether different and Percy reached out and touched the back of Thee’s hand. “I do,” he said softly. “Believe me, I know.”

Thee took his hand. “Then you won’t be stupid and stubborn anymore and let me come?”

Percy grinned, relief cooling his face and hands. Now that he thought about it, he really didn’t want to do this on his own. “As long as you promise that I won’t have to face your mother if we get lost.”

“Perish the thought.” Thee squeezed Percy’s hand so tight it hurt and then let go. “Besides, if she did go after you, Newt would never forgive me.” He stood up. “Now, where are we off to?”

Percy stood as well and looked down at Dougal. Surprisingly, Dougal’s eyes were a warm blue. He held out his hand and Dougal leaped into his arms. “First, to MACUSA to do a little illegal floo-jumping.”

Thee buttoned his jacket. “And then?”

“And then we’re going to go back to where all this started.” He picked up the satchel and gave it to Theseus. “Upon your life, don’t drop that.”

Thee raised an eyebrow at the same time he hefted the bag. “Then let’s go.”

***

The trip to Yorkshire via MACUSA and then the Ministry was fast and they arrived at the top of the low rise, Theseus landing a few moments before Percy.

Thee set the satchel down. “I’m off to the house. If you’re going to do what I think you’re going to do, we’ll need a few things.”

“I’ll be here.”

During the first leg of the journey, Dougal had buried his face in Percy’s shoulder and it was only until Percy stroked his back that he lifted his head.

“I’m sorry,” Percy said, “I should have warned you.”

Dougal smiled wanly.

Gently, Percy sat Dougal down and then strolled to the water’s edge. It was just a little past sun up and the surface of the pond steamed with the warming air. Dragonflies and gnats danced all about and he thought could hear the long trilling call of a wood nymph. Just like before and he swallowed, his throat thick with bitter nostalgia.

What if Newt never came back? What if all that was left was a vacuum of waiting and wondering, life put on hold because Newt was gone forever and because Newt was it for him. Yes, here in front of the pond that had seen the start of them, he could finally acknowledge the hard truth.

Like anyone, Percy had pondered the ins and outs of love, wondering why, when all his friends fell in love at the drop of a hat, he just hadn’t. In the beginning, he’d told himself that bringing a girl home to be consumed by his mother wouldn’t be the wisest way to start a romance. Later, when he had come to terms with his true interests, helped in part by Albus, he’d resigned himself to bachelorhood. It wasn’t too bad, he’d always assured himself. He had his work and his occasional forays into the underground life that was New York. If he was occasionally bored, or sensed that he was growing more and more into his own self with each passing year, it was a price he was willing to pay.

And then he’d been kidnapped, tortured, and gone running.

He’d told Theseus as much, a fugitive statement that had hidden his own doubts. But yes, feeling a sense of calm for the first time in weeks, Percy realized it had been worth it. Grindelwald and that whole horror had been worth it because in the end, it had given him love, it had given him Newt.

The air moved and shuddered and Percy turned in time to see Thee pop into view. He was carrying blankets, a knapsack and a canteen.

Theseus raised the knapsack and the canteen. “In case he’s thirsty or hungry.” He dropped everything and began shaking out one of the blankets.

Surreptitiously, Percy rubbed his eyes. “Good thinking.”

Thee paused and looked up. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Percy said. “But we’re going to get him back even if I have to kill every wizard or witch between us and him.”

Thee straightened up. And for once he didn’t tease or question or mock. He just tightened his lips and then nodded. “I’ll be sure to stay out of your way.”

“Good.”

***

There wasn’t much to arrange and they were ready in minutes. Percy sat cross-legged on the blanket, facing the pond. At either side sat Theseus and Dougal. “Have you ever been in the presence of a divination?” Percy asked.

“Just once with a girl back in school,” Thee said. “She began to babble and then her eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted.”

Percy smiled. The new sun warmed his face as anticipation warmed his belly; he could already feel it, the world beyond. “I think she was probably trying to impress you.”

Thee nudged Percy’s arm. “So your eyes aren’t going to roll back in your head?”

“If they do, get me to a doctor.”

Snorting softly, Thee nudged him again. “Will do.”

“Can you hand me that?” Percy asked, nodding to the satchel.

Very carefully, Thee reached a long arm and gave it to Percy.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Theseus said, leaning over to watch as Percy drew the cloth-covered orb out and exposed it to the light. “It’s rather ugly, isn’t it?”

Percy tucked the cloth back in the satchel. “It’s very old. Now they probably make them in a factory.”

Thee laughed under his breath and then said, “Perce?”

“Yes?”

“Why here?”

“Because this place holds my strongest connection to Newt.”

“You two didn’t…” Thee trailed off.

It was Percy’s turn to snort. “Of course not.” He ran his thumbs over the rough plans of the orb, remembering Newt’s attentiveness, his so very obvious affection. “But it’s where I first started to love him.”

Theseus was silent for another long moment and then he said quietly, “Oh.”

“Yes,” Percy agreed, adding with a _let’s get on with it_ breath, “I’m going to begin. Unless I do something stupid, just let me work.” He bent over the orb.

“How long will it take?”

But Percy didn’t answer because he couldn’t. The moment he gazed into the orb’s depths, it opened to him and he was once more in…

_…the now and not the then, walking through the mist. He doesn’t even have to raise his voice or call the wave to him—it was all about him, wrapping around his hands and legs and he can feel its joy that he’s finally here and not out…_

_He shakes his head, because he can’t get lost in this world of nothing. He has a task, a quest, and so he says firmly to the white,_ ‘ _Show me Newton Artemis Fido Scamander, Order of Merlin, Second Class.’_

_Just like that, the mist converges, shooting up to form a tower painted white with a black cap and footing. It’s a lighthouse, he realizes, standing at the edge of an ice-covered cliff. Snow is falling, thick and fast, and Percy’s breath comes in white gasps because he’s suddenly so tired and cold and hungry and his hands and back hurt so much. He doesn’t think he’s ever been in this much pain before and he wants to curl up and never feel anything ever again._

_He fights it, this feeling because it’s not his, it’s borrowed, absorbed from another and he straightens up and looks again._

_He sees nothing but the lighthouse and the snow. He gestures, a command and plea. The mist drags him along, swirling about his knees, tugging him until he’s standing before a small dark shape lying at the foot of the tower. It’s a dead crow, its black feathers blending with the black paint. He bends down because an odd grief fills his chest and he thinks he should bury it. As he touches one trailing feather, the crow changes shape, enlarging until it’s a dark cloud, like a cloak made of ash and smoke. The black shifts and shakes and Percy’s heart jerks in his chest as he…_

_Something hits him, a minor point of pain and it brings him out of the vision and_ …

…he opened his eyes. He was standing knee deep in the pond. The orb wasn’t in his hands and something was butting against his leg. He looked down. The creature peered up at the same moment. It was a doxie. She hissed and then swam away so fast the water rippled in sharp response.

_“Percy!”_

He turned. Thee and Dougal were standing among the reeds and dragon’s moss. “Yes?”

“I’ve been calling and calling,” Thee said with a glare, arms waving as he tried to maintain his balance. “What did you see? Are you all right?”

“I—” Percy waded towards the rushes. “I think so,” he said even though he wasn’t quite sure. “I saw a white land covered in snow, only this time there was a lighthouse.”

“Merlin have mercy,” Thee swore under his breath, reaching for Percy’s hand. “When you dropped the orb, and began writing on the map, I was so startled that I almost stopped you. Luckily, your demiguise was there to stop _me_.” Dougal grumbled in agreement as Theseus hauled Percy out of the water.

Percy’s boots and gaiters were covered in mud and his trousers were soaked to the knee. He was cleaning himself up when he realized what Thee had said. He stilled and looked up. “What map?”

“The map. The map you created.” Thee jerked his thumb towards the blanket. “You don’t remember?”

“No.” Percy finished with the last of the mud. “I made a map while I was in the divination?”

“You did. It’s right over there.”

Slowly, Percy went to the blanket. Floating in the air was a gossamer   map. It was finely detailed and glowing, about as long as his arm. The surface was covered with two large landmasses, several smaller ones, and wavy lines that could only be water. “It’s England and Europe,” he murmured.

“I would say so,” Theseus agreed. “And those have to be the Northern Isles.”

A glowing orange line went from the middle of Britain, straight up to a long island and then took a hard right. The line ended shortly in the middle of the ocean, a spot marked by a glowing red dot. Above the dot floated the word, ‘ _Nusquam.’_

“How did you do that and what did you see?” Thee asked.

“I have no idea,” Percy answered. “I’m certain my mother never did anything like this. I suppose the real question is what is that?” He crouched and pointed to the dot. “ _Nusquam. ‘_ Nothing.’” Dougal crouched, too, equally puzzled. “‘Nothing.’ That’s not very helpful.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

Percy waved his hand and muttered, “ _Revelio.”_ The word _Nusquam_ glowed brighter, but that was all. “Huh.”

“Hold on,” Thee said. “I have an idea…” He backed away, then disapparated. He returned within moments, now holding a rolled up parchment. It turned out to be a large printed world map. In the corner above the legend was an elaborate, _Official and Approved, Cormac Richardson, Magical Cartography Guild, 1876._

Percy raised an eyebrow. “Did you just steal this from Hogwarts?”

Concentrating, Thee waved his wand and the map slid under Percy’s. “Of course I did.” He adjusted the map’s size, humming with satisfaction when the two Britains lined up perfectly. “Do you want me to return it?”

“That wouldn’t be my first choice, no.”

“Good,” Thee said, kneeling beside Percy.

They both leaned over the maps. Dougal did, too. The Hogwarts map followed the magical version fairly well, except for the red dot. There was nothing on it to indicate there was anything there but water.

“It seems as if your line goes from Yorkshire to Yell Island and then on to the middle of nothing,” Thee said, tracing the way. “Is that Norway?” he added, nodding to the landmass on the far right.

“It is,” Percy answered.

Theseus sat back on his heels. “Why would your orb tell us to go to the middle of the ocean?”

Slowly, Percy shook his head. “I have no idea. Are you sure your map is accurate?”

“I would think they’d redraw it if it wasn’t,” Thee huffed as if Percy had just accused him of a crime.

Percy frowned. The maps matched up perfectly, which either meant his magic couldn’t be trusted or the official map was wrong. “Thee?” he said absently.

“Hm?”

“Do you remember that time you drank too much of that Hebridean butter beer and ruined Albus’s new Persian carpet?”

“Of course, I do. He reminded me of it every time I saw him for the next two months. What of it?”

“He’d cleaned it but it kept curling at the edges, so he used those big books to keep it st—”

“Yes!” Theseus crowed, frightening Dougal as he raised his finger to the sky. “One of those books was an atlas about lost magical places.”

“It’s a long shot,” Percy said. “He might have gotten rid of it a long time ago.”

Theseus jumped up. “Albus tossing a book? It would never happen.” He raised his wand but Percy reached up, stopping him with a hand on his arm.

“Do you want me to go? When he finds out, he’ll be less likely to be angry if it’s me.”

Theseus pursed his lips. “I realize you two shared a moment a thousand years ago, but I’m not without my own charm. I’ll survive whatever wrath he throws my way.”

It had been a long week and a longer night, filled with worry and fear, but Thee’s comment made Percy smile—a real, genuine smile. “My apologies—you’re very attractive and everyone desires you. Go on, then; we’ll wait here.”

With a snort and then an audacious leer, Thee disapparated once again.

***

Theseus was gone long enough for Percy to start worrying. He wrapped the orb up and put it back in the satchel. With nothing better to do, he sat on the blanket, his arms around his knees. After a moment, Dougal came to sit by his side and they watched the sun rise. Finally, just as he was preparing to go in search, Theseus appeared, arms full of books and scrolls. Percy raised an eyebrow and said, “I see you brought his entire library.”

Thee dropped his armload on the blanket. “Headmaster Dippet was there, going over Albus’s lesson plan. I had to wait until he doddered off.” He knelt and pushed a stack of books and parchments towards Percy. “I couldn’t find the atlas so I’m hoping these will do. Mine are Italian and French and, because I know how bad your languages are,” he nodded to Percy’s stack, “yours are in English.”

Percy gave Thee a doubtful look, but opened the first book. It was the first volume of Templesnikket’s history of magical places, focusing on Hybernia and Valentia. The text was florid and hard to understand and Percy gave it only a cursory glance before moving on to the next in line, a dragon-skin parchment. It had been written by a man named Albert Acuri, a wizard who had died in the eighties. The long-winded preface said that Acuri’s arduous and perilous adventures had taken him as far north as Siberia and south to Antarctica.

Doubtful such a gasbag would have anything to offer, Percy unrolled the parchment and held his hand over the copy, looking for any mention of Norway or Yell or Zetland. He found nothing but more self-congratulatory prose and was about to go onto the next book when Thee muttered, “Hmm.”

Percy dropped the scroll. Theseus was bent over a red leather-bound book with pages as thick as his fingernail. An onionskin map had been stitched into the binding and Thee had unfolded it, the delicate paper curled over his knee. “What did you find?”

“It’s from a French explorer, Emeline LeCou.” Thee pointed to the map. “Listen to this: _‘I followed the villager’s suggestion and much to my surprise, found myself on an island of ice and rock. Because of its location and its ability to fade in an out of view and time, I shall name it ‘Ingensteds,’ which I’m told means ‘nowhere,’ in Norwegian.’_ Thee looked up at Percy. “Nowhere. _Nusquam._ ”

“So the orb was right,” Percy murmured.

“Which means we need to somehow apparate to a place that might or might not exist.”

Percy slumped back and then shook his head. “And how the hell do we do that?”

***

They argued. A discussion that was reasoned at first and then quickly grew in heat and volume. Percy wanted to use brooms but Theseus suggested they enchant two magic carpets and ride across. Percy said that if they did, it would catch the attention of the Ministry and that would surely ground them. Theseus shot back that they could wait until nightfall and fly out under cover of dark. Waiting, of course, didn’t sit well with Percy and he said so. Both on their feet now, Thee paced back and forth and then offered a slight alteration in his plan, suggesting they travel to Norway by the floo network and then wait until dusk to take the carpets out.

At the end of this tether, Percy demanded to know why Theseus was so resistant to the very logical idea of brooms. Thee flushed but didn’t answer.

“Well?” Percy asked again.

“I can’t!” Thee said.

“ _Why?”_

Thee stopped pacing and put his hands on his hips. “Because I get broom-sick!”

Percy frowned, not sure if he had heard correctly. “Come again?”

“I get broom- _sick.”_

“I—”

“Yes,” Thee said, “the great war hero gets broom-sick when he flies over water. All right?”

Percy couldn’t help it—he began to laugh. And laugh and laugh, bent over, his breath coming in great wheezes.

“It’s not that funny,” Thee complained.

Percy waved and then wiped his eyes because yes, it _was_ that funny. Thee had always been like some prince from a no-maj fairy tale and to find out— He straightened up. “Sorry,” he rasped as he wiped his eyes. “It’s just it rather is. If your fan club only knew,” he added and just the thought made him snicker once more.

“Are you done?”

Percy glanced over. Thee was frowning but behind his dark glare was a slip of worry. Percy wiped his eyes again. Dougal was peering at him too, his head cocked with the same worry. “Sorry,” he repeated, this time to Thee _and_ Dougal. “I’m not going crazy.”

“I expect you needed that.”

He smiled, because yes, like his success with the orb, he _had_ needed a good laugh but he said it for the third time, truly meaning it, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven.”

Percy drew a deep breath and, then said, “All right. We can’t fly over water on brooms and we can’t take carpets—do you have another suggestion?”

“I do but you’re going to think I’m off my head.”

“I already think you’re off your head.”

“Then,” Theseus said, hands once more on his hips, “I propose we simply apparate over there.”

Percy gave it a moment because he didn’t want to start arguing again. Theseus used that moment to press his reasons.

“Think about it,” Thee said, “They’ve been trying for weeks to get the girl which means they must have some way of knowing that the island is stable. That is what we’re assuming, that they’ve squirreled the girl away along with the obscurus in order to somehow use the latter, yes?”

Percy nodded.

“So they’re crazy, but not that crazy.”

Surprised, Percy raised an eyebrow. “You’re right,” he said slowly. “Maybe Grindelwald enchanted the island or maybe it follows a cyclical pattern. Like the moon or the seasons.”

“If it’s the former,” Theseus replied as he waved his wand, “we probably shouldn’t waste anymore time talking. Who knows how long it will be around.” The books and scrolls and map flew into his arms. “When I get back, be ready.”

Percy picked up the satchel. “Take this, too—Albus won’t mind. Don’t drop it. Mother will not be pleased if anything happens to it.”

“That’s the most terrifying thing I’ve heard all week,” Thee muttered as he took the satchel and disappeared.

“Well, Dougal,” Percy said, carefully folding the magical map until it was the size of a postal card. “I think you have a decision to make.” He tucked the map away, then gathered up the blankets. “I’ll carry you, but it’s going to be a rough trip. You can stay here if you like but I’m not sure when we’ll be back.”

Dougal thought about it and then with a sound that Percy could only call a sigh, he looped the canteen over his head and nodded.

***

Percy and Theseus ended up stuffing the blankets in the knapsack and then floo’d to the Norway office. While the duty officer was still sputtering and firing off what Percy presumed were questions, Thee grabbed his arm and whisked them out of the building.

After that, with Theseus still holding Percy’s arm, it was a series of jumps, their final destination a flat islet no bigger than the erumpent enclosure. All around, the blue-grey sea frothed and heaved and crashed, sending up spumes of salt water.

“The island should be straight east from here.”

“Hold on.” Percy let Dougal down, then got out the map and unfolded it. It hovered in the air, then, in a ripple of white fire, it transformed, now showing mostly water and a small land mass. In place of the red dot was a half-moon shape, off to the east and a bit south. “That has to be the island. How far away do you think it is?”

“I don’t know,” Thee said. “Based on the other map, I’d say it was ten or fifteen miles? It’s hard to tell with nothing to compare it _to_.”

Percy glanced up, shifting his weight. As he did, the island shifted, too, moving right until it was directly in front of him. “Can you apparate that far without a visual guide?” The furthest he’d ever gone in one go had been less than a mile and he remembered asking, _‘He can apparate that far?’_ and the answer: _‘Whether he can on a daily basis is anyone’s guess, but needs must and he needed to.’_ Newt had done the impossible because he’d had to—Percy could do no less.

“I’m going to have to, won’t I,” Theseus answered, unconsciously mirroring Percy’s thoughts. “Can you make that map smaller?”

“I don’t know…” Percy murmured, _‘Reducio.’_ The map shuddered, then shrank until it was the size of his hand. “Do you want me to hold it while we apparate?” Absently, he reached out for Dougal; Dougal jumped up into his arm and curled his arms around Percy’s neck.

“It would help.”

Thee’s tone was doubtful and Percy managed a smile. “Faint heart never won fair maid and all that, right?”

Theseus snorted. “I absolutely cannot wait to tell Newt that you called him a fair maid.”

The fact that Thee still believed they’d be successful loosened the knot of worry in Percy’s chest and he grinned. “I’ll tell him myself.” _If we only find him, I’ll tell him everything._

Thee smiled and then wrapped his arm around Percy’s waist. “Creature?” he said to Dougal. “Make sure you hold on tight—I won’t be able to get any height so this will be a rough one.” He glanced sideways at Percy. “Ready?”

Percy clasped his hand over Thee’s and nodded. “Ready.”

***

It was worse than rough. Theseus traveled close above the water, apparating in and out, never giving the waves a moment to catch them. And though he was quick, he wasn’t fast enough to avoid the water spray and they were drenched within seconds. But somehow it worked—following Percy’s map, they flew at a dizzying pace until a broad, flat mass of land appeared before them. Thee adjusted his course and shouted something that was lost to the wind and then they landed and tumbled apart.

Percy ended up on his back and closed his eyes while the world to right itself. When the dizziness passed, he sat up, pulling free of the clinging ice. “Is everyone okay?” he asked. There was no answer and he got to his feet. Theseus was many feet away as was Dougal. They were both flat on their backs. “Thee?” Percy said as he got out his wand and warmed his trousers and boots with a blast of hot air.

“I am never going to do that ever again,” Thee said without opening his eyes. “I landed on a rock.”

“I don’t think it’s a rock,” Percy said, surveying the area. “I think it’s all ice.” He stamped on the ground, not surprised to feel his boot slip under the covering of snow. “Dougal, are you okay?” Dougal didn’t answer and Percy hurried to him.

Dougal had gotten to his feet but he was frowning at the ground.

“It’s just ice,” Percy said, going over to him. Dougal was shivering and swaying. His fur was standing out in icy points and his skin was blue. “Damnation,” Percy muttered under his breath. “Thee, toss me a blanket—Dougal’s cold.”

While Thee got the blankets out, Percy said a heating charm, warming Dougal until he was no longer shivering. “I’m sorry,” he said as soon as Dougal could lift his feet from the ice, “I should have done something about shoes or slippers. Come here…”

He pulled Dougal close even as Thee called out, “Catch!” and ported a blanket over with a wave of his wand.

Quickly, Percy bundled Dougal up until just his face was exposed. He looked like a little old lady, almost like the miniature of Auntie Yepa that hung in the small dining room at Greyfield. “Is that better?”

Dougal didn’t respond.

“Is he well?” Thee asked, coming over to crouch by Percy’s side. “Because he doesn’t look it.”

Percy frowned for it was true—Dougal’s lips were no longer blue and he wasn’t shivering, but he was staring out at nothing as if he were in a daze. “Dougal?” Percy asked. “Are you all ri—”

With a gasp, Dougal’s limbs stiffened and his eyes changed color, turning a mix of pink, purple and then a bright, translucent blue. He whimpered and then blinked and his pupils were once more a normal gold. With an urgent bleat, he pointed.

“I think he wants us to go that way,” Thee muttered.

“I would say so,” Percy said doubtfully. It had begun to snow and what little visibility they’d had was gone.

Dougal pointed again but this time he took Percy’s hand and tugged.

“That’s fairly definitive,” Thee said, getting to his feet.

Percy just tightened his lips, but he rose and settled Dougal on his hip. Dougal immediately jabbed the air with his finger. “Let’s hope he knows where we’re going.”

***

They set off, following Dougal’s directions. It was odd, walking in complete white and Percy couldn’t help but compare it to a divination. He would have it would have been fairly similar, but it wasn’t. Trudging through snow, not knowing where to walk or if one was going to trip or slip was exhausting and it was only Thee’s comforting arm pressed against his own that gave him a semblance of equilibrium.

“How much further, do you think?” Thee said.

“Hm?” Percy answered, only then realizing that he’d fallen into a kind of waking sleep, still moving, his mind focused on the swirling snow that seemed to pull and tease him forward. “I have no idea,” he added. “Dougal? Where are we going?”

Dougal replied by pointing once more.

“That’s a fat lot of help,” Thee grumbled. “I wonder if a _reperio_ spell would do anything?”

“I have no idea,” Percy said, pitching his voice against the rising wind. “Why don’t you give it a go?”

But instead of answering, Theseus cocked his head and said, “What is that?”

Percy slowed down and listened. He didn’t hear it at first and then he did, a sound that was almost no sound at all but a heavy grainy tone that seemed to come from the very air itself. “Are we near a cliff?” he asked. “Is it the sea?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Thee shouted because the sound had gotten louder.

Percy started to answer when a dark mass formed before his very eyes. It swam and floated and then like an arrow from a bow, it solidified into a black line and shot away.

Dougal yelped and strained forward, pointing and waving.

Hoping a broken leg wasn’t in his future, Percy ran, trailing Theseus in a ragged lope that seemed to get them nowhere and he was slowing down when Thee stopped so fast, Percy ran into him.

“Perce,” Theseus breathed. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

Muttering an apology to Dougal, Percy looked edged around Theseus.

He saw and his jaw dropped because there it was, the towering white lighthouse from his vision. Every detail was perfect, down to the black ring around its cap and base. The only thing different was that there wasn’t a crow at its base but a buoyant wave of dark matter. It hovered around the footing and then billowed, as if someone was shaking out a sheet. It reshaped, its form consolidating and thickening.

“Is it the obscurus?” Thee asked.

“I don’t know,” Percy answered. He’d seen Tina’s memories, of course, but viewed through the lens of her recollections… “It’s much bigger than the one in the suit—”

“Merlin’s Beard,” Thee interrupted as the cloud shifted to reveal a figure huddled against the lighthouse door. “ _Newt!”_ He leaped into action, racing for the lighthouse.

Dougal howled and Percy followed. The black mass paused and then shot up to hover ten feet or so above Newt.

“Those bastards,” Thee growled as he dropped the knapsack and gently turned the figure over.

So, yes, Percy thought as he fell to his knees, it _was_ Newt. Only it wasn’t because Newt had never been so motionless nor so pale, his skin and hair frosted with ice and snow. “Is he alive?” Percy said, or rather, tried, because he couldn’t seem to make his mouth work and he tried once more, “Theseus—is he alive?” Newt’s lips were blue and so were his eyelids.

“Barely,” Thee answered, tugging Newt closer as Dougal edged between them and threw his blanket over Newt’s body. “He’s ice cold. We need a fire before anything else. Can yo—”

With a dazed, “ _Incendio_ ,” Percy gestured and a ring of fire sprang up all around.

“He’s been burned. His hand is a mess,” Thee said, and then, when Percy leaned over to see, Thee nudged him back with his elbow. “Better not,” he said with a stark smile. “It will just make you angry.”

Theseus’s skin reflected the orange fire and Percy nodded. “Then what can I do?” It wasn’t a rhetorical question—he couldn’t quite order his thoughts into anything other than _Newt_ and _barely._

“We need to get him to a medical facility as quick as possible—have any ideas?”

Percy smiled stiffly because _this_ he could do. He got out his portkey. “Dougal?” he said. “Get on my back. Don’t let go.” Dougal climbed up and Percy opened the pouch only to be stopped by Thee’s quick touch.

“What about that thing?” Thee asked, nodding to the black mass, now only a few feet above.

Not really caring much about the obscurus, Percy nodded to the knapsack. “Maybe it will fit in there?”

Thee actually laughed. “We’re a fine pair, aren’t we? So unprepared.” He opened the pack and took out the spare blankets. He looked up. “You there,” he said to the obscurus. “I’m not sure if you can understand, but we’ll take you back if you can get in—”

With a noise that was similar to the unpleasant screech of metal on metal, the obscurus poured into the bag.

“Well,” Thee said, as he tied the bow and then slung the knapsack over his shoulder. “That’s one problem solved. Now,” he added, carefully gathering Newt up, almost staggering. “Please don’t drop us.”

Feeling sick at just the thought, Percy stood as well and wrapped his arm around Thee’s waist. The fire died down and the world was white again and he felt a quick moment of regret—if he had the time, he’d burn the place to the ground. “Everyone hold on,” he said, unable to keep from glancing over at Newt as he reached inside the pouch.

***

He thought later it might have been that last look at Newt that made the journey so awful. The world tipped and spun and then tipped again; when they landed inside the apartment, it was brutal. With the wards shrieking, Dougal rolled away and began to wretch. Thee stumbled and then dropped Newt. Reeling, Percy lunged for Newt and missed. Newt didn’t make a sound as he hit the ground and that was somehow the worst thing of all. Without waiting, Percy hauled Newt up and threw him over his shoulder. He apparated out, heading directly to MACUSA’s infirmary.

Percy arrived in the corridor outside the elevators and then jumped again, this time landing outside the infirmary itself. Opening the doors with a flick of his fingers, he used too much force and the doors crashed inwards. Someone screamed and another called out. Ignoring both, he staggered to an empty bed and lowered Newt. “He needs help,” he called out but there was no need—every witch and wizard in the place was running over. They crowded around him and he was pushed to the back to the stand there, his fists and jaws clenched.

“Director?” Someone touched his arm and asked again, “Director Graves?”

Percy blinked and then turned. It was a young mediwitch. A clipboard floated beside her. She spoke again but her words made no sense. “Yes? What?”

She peered up at him. “I asked you if he’s taken any drugs or potions.”

The staff was disrobing Newt, tossing his clothing on a chair by the bed. “I have no idea.” Percy heard himself speak—his voice was hollow and tinny as if he were standing in a tunnel.

The witch’s pen began to write, scurrying across the page. “We can’t find his wand. Were there any charms or spells cast against him?”

Cloak, vest, shirt, trousers all landed on the chair but no blue coat. “I have no idea.”

She frowned. “If he doesn’t respond to treatment, we might have to perform a _Priori Incantatem_. That is, if we have the wand.” She paused and peered up at him. “Do we have the wand?”

“I’m not sure. Probably not.”

“That’s not good.”

“No.” Newt had neither wand nor coat. A wizard without a wand was essentially naked and the coat was a part of Newt.

“We’ll have to hope that his injuries are only the common, non-magical variety.”

A gurney floated by. “Yes, we will.”

“His fingers, toes and face are damaged from frost-bite, but he’s also been burned severely on his back and his arms. We’re taking him to the burn wing.”

As one, the witches and wizards waved their wands and lifted Newt; the gurney slid under. One of the wizards gestured and the gurney began to move. Percy tried not to look though there was nothing to see—just a bundle of blankets and a shock of red-gold hair. Still in a daze, he started to follow only to be stopped by the witch’s hand on his arm.

“You can’t go, sir,” the witch said. “Only family is allowed in that wing and then only in the waiting room.”

Percy looked down at the hand on his arm and then up at the witch herself. She paled and stepped back.

“I—” she began, reaching for the clipboard to clasp it to her chest. “Sir?”

Percy cocked his head. He was never sure what he would have done because he was stopped by a loud, “What’s going on here?” He turned to find Theseus striding through the door.

“What are you doing?” Thee said as he came to stand by Percy’s side. “Why are you terrifying this girl?”

“Sir?” the witch said with visible relief. “I was explaining to the director that only—”

The gurney was almost out of the room and it bumped against the door. Newt’s arm slipped free of the blankets, exposing the thing that had to be his hand.

“Stay with him,” Percy interrupted. “I have an errand to run.” Theseus made to grab him, but Percy shoved him and then disapparated out.

***

It was always going to come to this, Percy thought as Mabon jumped up from the watch desk. Without breaking his stride, he gestured and Mabon flew back and hit a pillar. Next was Amos, Myers, and Redde, all apparating right in front. They were too slow, though, and casually, as if he were swatting flies, Percy took them out with another wave of his hand.

The cage was now in sight and his blood sang. Yes, it was always going to come to—

A small army apparated in and Percy stopped, head down, breath coming hard. He smiled and then with an abrupt sweep of his arms, he cast a broad spell that hurtled them all back. Without waiting to assess the damage, he strode to the cage.

Grindelwald had heard the commotion, of course, and was waiting, his off-color eyes shining with delight. “Finally,” he called out as Percy got within wand-range. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long. Why have you—”

Percy raised his arms and Grindelwald shot to the top of the cage.

“That’s the spirit!” Grindelwald said around a laugh. “All that time spent with you… I could feel your power like the sweetest of—”

Once more, only down, and Grindelwald fell, crashing to the cement.

It had to have hurt but Grindelwald laughed again as if he were at a party. “Oh, my dear,” he gurgled. “If only I could convince you to join me—what a pair we would make. Your liaison with that stupid boy can’t be enough to satisfy you, can it?” He looked up. “I couldn’t, could I? Convince you—”

The third time, as the no-maj saying went, was a charm and Percy picked Grindelwald up and threw him back against the cage. He stepped closer. The bars mewled and burned but he ignored the pain, pressing Grindelwald against the metal, avidly drinking in the smell of burning flesh, slowly choking away that hyena laugh and that snake-slick grin. He could feel his people gathering behind him, a collection of power that hummed in his ears and against his back. He smiled and squeezed.

“Dear Percival,” Grindelwald wheezed, fingers clawing at his own throat. “You know this doesn’t bother me in the least. I quite enjoy it. Albus should have told you—”

Percy squeezed again. He was sweating, he realized, either from the pleasure coursing through his body or the heat of the bars that were now red and glowing. Everything was on fire, inside and out and he remembered Newt’s hand and blue lips, and the fire became an inferno. _Burn,_ he thought, _burn like you burned him_ and he snarled at the joy of it, moving his thumb, covering the hard column of Grindelwald’s gullet and…

Someone came to stand beside him, someone who radiated cool and calm.

“Making friends anew, Gellert?” Albus said. “What is it about you that drives everyone crazy?”

Grindelwald tried to answer but Percy pressed and whatever he was going to say was lost in a whine.

“Percival,” Albus said quietly. “I could give you all sorts of reasons why this is pointless but you know them better than I.”

“I know that I’ve been waiting for this for months,” Percy panted through gritted teeth, thinking only of Newt’s hand and his missing wand and blue coat. “You can’t stop me.” Grindelwald had finally shut up and he hung there like a stringless marionette. “You can’t.”

“I know,” Albus agreed sadly. “That’s why I’m afraid I’ll have to resort to more violent measures.”

Concentration broken, Percy twisted but it was too late. Theseus appeared out of nowhere and grabbed him from behind. And then, like something from one of those no-maj talkies, Albus hit Percy neatly on the chin.

The blow wasn’t hard but it startled him and he dropped his arms, dropping Grindelwald as well. Albus hit him again, this time with a spell.

As Percy slid to the floor under a ripple of black, Grindelwald coughed and choked and began to laugh once more.


	5. The Sere Yellow Leaf

Book V—The Sere Yellow Leaf

 

It was a small sound that raised him up, swimming through the layers of consciousness. _Click clack, click clack,_ and he frowned, trying to identify the sound. It wasn’t the egg scratch of a newborn Ironbelly. It wasn’t the metallic chirp of a Phoenix readying itself for its final immolation. He thought it might the mating call of the Australian Min Min but the Australian Min Min’s mating season happened every ten years and they still had another eight to go.

It was that conundrum that brought Newt truly awake.

He opened his eyes. And then immediately closed them again because it was so bright and the brightness made his eyes sting.

“You’re awake. Good.”

He tried again, squinting this time. He was on his side in a hospital bed. He was wearing pajamas. Both his hands were lightly bandaged and his back felt stiff and sore.

Two women were sitting by the bed. The first was older than he though she wasn’t old. She had short dark hair that curled against her cheek, dark skin and slanted, coal-black eyes. She seemed familiar but even as Newt chased the thought, it skittered and fled.

The other woman might have represented time itself for she was wrinkled and pruned, her claw-like hands holding a pair of knitting needles. Her eyes, however, were sharp and so similar to the younger woman’s that they had to be related.

“Do I know you?” Newt said because it seemed he must—the younger woman was so familiar… “We’ve met before. Haven’t we?”

“Never,” the younger woman answered. “But I know you, Newton Artemis Fido Scamander.”

The older woman answered, too, saying something in an unknown language.

“What is that?” he asked. “Portuguese?”

The women shared a glance but it was the younger that again spoke, “No, Mr. Scamander, it was not Portuguese but Iroquois, specifically Mohawk.”

“Mohawk,” Newt breathed. “Of the American Indian Mohawks?”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “You know of our people?”

“I read Hambridge’s _Magical Peoples of the Americas and Their Customs_ and _The Last of the Mohicans_ when I was fourteen.” Fourteen and so in love and walking on air because Percy had come to stay for the summer. “It was one of the reasons I wanted to visit America.”

The woman made a face, a little moué. “Both were overly romantic versions of the time.”

“Don’t most stories tell overly romantic versions of any time?”

The older woman snorted and the younger woman smiled. It changed her face entirely. “I suppose that is true.”

For whatever reason—the clearing of his own mind or the reemergence of common sense, Newt realized why the woman seemed so familiar. It hadn’t been just a dream and he fell back to the bed. And then pulled up the bedclothes. “You’re Percy’s mother. I dreamt about you.”

“It was no dream.”

“I realize that now. Where’s Percy?”

The woman ignored Newt’s question. “Yes, I am Percival’s mother. You may call me Dandrenor. This is my mother, Mrs. Dena Tryphena Roche.”

Newt nodded to the older women, “Ma’am,” and then, “Where is he? Where’s Percy?”

Dandrenor hesitated, then said, “He’s unavailable at the moment.”

Newt frowned and pushed to get up. The old woman leaned forward, saying something urgently. “I’m sorry,” he replied. “I don’t understand.”

“She says,” came a voice from behind Newt, “that she has spent the better part of two days putting you back together and she wants you to lie still.”

It was a mediwizard, as ancient as Mrs. Roche. He was wearing a white coat and supporting himself with an elaborate cane. Beside him floated a chart and pen; as he came closer to the bed, the pen began to write. “You gave us quite a scare, Mr. Scamander. Luckily for you, Miss Dena agreed to assist us in your recovery. She had an unguent the proved especially beneficial with your burns and the latent infection.”

Newt glanced down at his hands and then sniffed them. They smelled of linen and disinfectant and not much else.

 _‘Knautia arvensis’_ and “ _Viburnum tinus,’”_ Dandrenor said. “Or, more commonly known as Widow’s Flower and Sailor’s Knot.”

“I’ve heard of the former but not the latter,” Newt replied. He looked up again. “Where is Percy?”

“That is probably because _Viburnum tinus_ is found almost exclusively in the Mediterranean,” Dandrenor answered smoothly. “My mother travels to Europe every spring to collect the season’s first blooms.”

Newt pursed his lips. He was used to being dismissed and ignored—he’d used both to good effect more than a few times. But that didn’t mean he liked being dismissed and ignored and he sat up. “Doctor,” he said, switching targets. “Can you please tell me where Director Graves is?”

The mediwizard put his hands in his pockets and frowned. “I believe he’s—”

“Arlo,” Mrs. Roche said in perfectly perfect English as she set her knitting down. “My daughter tells me that your gardens are quite lovely.” She held out her hand.

The doctor actually blushed and quickly took Mrs. Roche’s hand. “It would be my pleasure, my dear. I so miss our little chats.”

With a sidelong glance at Dandrenor, Mrs. Roche let the doctor lead her away. She hadn’t yet gone through the door when she turned. “And, Mr. Scamander, it might interest you to know that a Marbled Kelpie was seen near Greyfield only a month ago. If you visit, I will assist you on your hunt.” And then she smiled at the doctor and left the room.

Newt took a breath and opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Dandrenor raised an eyebrow. “My mother was one of MACUSA’s top healers in her day. Doctor Monroe was quite fond of her.”

“I—”

Dandrenor picked up the knitting and put it in a bag. “She retired a few years ago and now spends her time in New York and Paris.”

“Mrs. Grav—”

“No.” Dandrenor finally looked at him. “I’m not going to tell you where he is, Mr. Scamander. I promised.”

Newt frowned. “Who could have possibly pro—”

“Me, of course.”

Somehow unsurprised, Newt could only sigh as Dumbledore came into the room. “Professor. Aren’t you supposed to be teaching?”

“As if you truly cared about that.” Dumbledore sat on the bed and covered Newt’s hand with his own. “I am exceedingly happy to see you. You gave us quite a scare.”

“So I’ve been told. Why can’t I see Percy?”

Dumbledore squeezed. “One of the things I’ve always admired about you, young Newt, is your tenacity and sheer stubbornness. In this instance, however, you will need to cultivate patience.”

That couldn’t be good, and Newt tightened his lips. “Because?”

“Because my son is under house arrest,” Dandrenor answered with a sigh.

Feeling his face actually turn red, Newt looked at Dandrenor and then Dumbledore. “What in the—” Once more, he tried to get up, once more, he was stopped, this time by Dumbledore.

“It was nothing, just a little…” Dumbledore cocked his head and smiled. “Let’s call it a contretemps. Things happened after Percy and Theseus and the creature Dougal retrieved you from the island and as a result, the former is under orders to stay at home while the ICW sorts everything out. You needn’t worry. It’s all a formality. Theseus is with him, although I suppose that presents its own set of problems as those two have always brought out the hooligan in the other.”

Head spinning from the overflow of information, Newt could only ask weakly, “Dougal was there? What island?”

Dumbledore exchanged a glance with Dandrenor and got up and sat on a chair. “Dandrenor, I believe your son would benefit from an update. If you wouldn’t mind.”

Dandrenor nodded. “Of course not, Albus.” She gathered the bag of knitting and her cloak. “I will see you soon, Mr. Scamander.” And then she leaned over and kissed Newt’s cheek.

“Well,” Dumbledore said after Dandrenor had gone. “You can probably stop looking so shocked. Did you think she was going to turn you into a toad?”

“I—” Newt began. “No. I just—” He tidied the covers. “I just heard the stories. From Thee and Percy. You know.”

“Yes, well.” Dumbledore settled back and crossed his legs. “Consider the sources.”

“Thee would never lie,” Newt said hotly, unable to add, _‘Neither would Percy’_ because he honestly didn’t know and he pulled on the covers again, this time restlessly. He really did need to find Percy. If only he had his wand… “He never would.”

“I didn’t mean _that_ ,” Dumbledore said. “I only meant that sometimes another point-of-view is everything. Yes, Dandrenor was hard on Percy. Yes, she made his life difficult while he was growing up.” He shook his head. “But she had her reasons. She’s a perfectly lovely woman.”

Newt tipped his head. He’d always thought… “Professor?”

Dumbledore grinned. “Don’t be silly. Like so many of Percy’s friends, I had my moment of infatuation but that moment was over in a flash. Unlike many of the before-mentioned friends.”

Newt thought on that. All those times he’d mentioned Percy’s parents, all those times he’d been brushed off, leaving him with the conclusion that Percy’s parents wanted nothing to do with him. “I assumed… I mean, Percy never told her about us. I think.”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “Never told her? You forget whom you’re talking about. She knows; she’s always known. And don’t bother,” he added as Newt opened his mouth to ask the next logical question. “If you don’t know, I won’t be the one to educate you. It’s Percy’s story to tell.”

Long familiar with the resolute set of Dumbledore’s jaw, Newt put off any idea of wheedling, instead asking, “Then what about this island? Can you at least tell me that.”

A smile replaced his frown and Dumbledore said, “Of course, I can. Of course I can at least tell you that.”

***

Dumbledore talked the afternoon away, telling Newt of what had happened after he’d left, about MACUSA’s investigations and Grindelwald’s attacks. And then he told about Percy and Thee Dougal and their crazy, stab-in-the-dark plan.

“And they really apparated to the island even though they didn’t know if it was there?”

Dumbledore nodded. He’d ordered tea halfway through and he took a sip. “They did indeed. They were lucky I wasn’t around or I would never have sanctioned it.”

Newt shrugged. He was starting to tire, his thoughts tiring too, growing muddled and dim. He turned on his side and rested his head on his hand. “I’m glad. I would have died out there.”

“My dear boy,” Dumbledore murmured, his eyes brightening. “I don’t even like to think what would have happened if they hadn’t.”

Newt gave it a moment and then asked, “And Grindelwald? Did he survive the attack?”

“He did, though just barely. The medical staff worked almost as long on him as they did on you.”

“Then why is Percy under arrest if Grindelwald survived?”

“If you were thinking clearly you would know the answer to your own question. A wizard, even one as senior as Percival, cannot do as he pleases. If any of the Aurors that he injured had pressed charges, he’d be in a fine kettle of fish.”

“Why didn’t they?” Newt asked, trying to rid himself of the awful vision of Percy once more attacking his own people.

“As one Auror said—a Miss Mabon, I believe it was—they understood why Percy did what he did and if any of them had been in his place, they would have done the same thing.”

He frowned. “They said that? All of them?”

“To a one. It gave Seraphina the leeway she needed when she faced the Council.”

He should be happy that Percy had the support of his Aurors but Seraphina was a stickler for the rules and she rarely went against the Council… “And Modesty? She _is_ all right?”

Dumbledore took another sip of tea. “She is. She arrived in your flat, screaming with a puffskein and bucket in tow. She’s been clamoring to see you. Miss Goldstein discovered the girl has powers but they are nascent in the extreme. Seraphina thinks it best she be eased into our world gradually.” He sat his teacup down, his expression darkening. “That woman, Barebone. By all accounts she twisted young Modesty’s mind like a top. If the girl doesn’t end up in Azkaban…” He shook his head again. “But the long and short of it is, you rescued her and Percy and Theseus rescued you and the obscurus.”

Newt rubbed his cheek against his hand. He couldn’t remember much of anything after leaving the castle but he sort of recalled being covered by a dark cloud. A dark cloud that wasn’t a cloud. “When I get out of here, I’ll work with Credence. Maybe we can help him regain his corporeal form. I owe him my life, too.”

“As I understand.” Dumbledore moved the teacup a smidge to the left. “Newton?”

“Yes?”

“The ICW sent a team out to the island but it’s no longer there. It seems that without magical influence, its time had come.” Dumbledore looked up. “Which means we won’t be able to find and question your captors.”

Newt shrugged. He’d lost his wand and his blue coat but as for the rest? Punishing his captors really was the least of his worries. Besides, he knew who was behind the whole mess. “Maybe I’ll care in a week but I don’t now. I just want to see Percy.” He frowned and reached up to grab the bed frame. “Please. I don’t even need to talk to him, I suppose. I just want to make sure he’s all right and I can’t do that here.”

Carefully, Dumbledore reached and pulled Newt’s hand free. “You’re going to hurt yourself, and though I’m not afraid of Dandrenor, I am very much afraid of her mother and I—” He sighed as he let Newt go. “All right. If you promise to sleep, I’ll see what I can do.”

Newt relaxed into the pillow. “Thank you, Professor.”

“And when I mean sleep, I don’t mean academically or figuratively.”

“It’s all right,” Newt murmured. “I’m tired in a non-academic and non-figurative way. I’ll even close my eyes,” he added and did so.

“Good,” Dumbledore said.

“The thing is,” Newt added in a mumble as he fought a tide of exhaustion, “I don’t understand how they found me in the first place.”

If Dumbledore ever answered, Newt never knew because just like that, he was out.

***

When he opened his eyes next, he was facing the wide window and the setting sun. He stretched, and then did it again when he realized his back felt fine. His hands, too, were better—both bandages were gone and though it was too dark to see much, he was sure they were fully healed.

A soft sound broke his self-examination and he peered over his shoulder. Dumbledore, just a shadowy figure, was propped against the wall.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Newt said.

Dumbledore shifted and then straightened up. He waved on the oil lamp and no, it wasn’t Dumbledore but Percy. Percy with a many day’s old beard and tired eyes and so beautiful that Newt’s mouth went dry. It felt as if it had been years since he’d last seen Percy because he’d forgotten how very, very beautiful he was… “Hullo,” he said around the lump in his throat.

Percy smiled. “Hello.”

Newt rolled to his back. “Have you been here long?”

Instead of answering directly, Percy leaned over the bed and kissed Newt.

And, ah, he’d forgotten that, too, how just Percy’s touch could make his bones melt and his heart race. “You shouldn’t do that,” he whispered happily. “I haven’t cleaned my teeth in ages and we’re in a—”

Percy kissed him again, this time harder, sliding his hand down Newt’s chest and then around his waist.

It was a welcome home that had Newt’s blood burning and his mind awash with confused imagery, all forgotten when he realized that Percy was shaking, just a muted tremble so faint it was barely there. Gently, he pushed Percy back. Percy’s eyes were closed and he was frowning. “What is it?” Newt asked, remembering his epiphany of that last day, standing among the dead, at the end of himself and everything he’d hoped for. “Is it— What’s wrong?”

Percy made a sound deep in his chest and then opened his eyes and perched on the side of the bed. “I was such a fool,” he said as if answering a completely different question. “When you moved here from England, I thought that nothing would change and I was fine with that. And then you left and I realized—” His jaw worked. “I’ve never been so mad, Newt, or so frightened. I had you and I wasn’t careful and I—”

This time it was Newt that stopped Percy mouth, taking Percy’s hand and leaning up to give him kisses that he wanted to be lovingly heartfelt but were probably just clumsy.

They drew apart at the same time.

Percy slid off the bed and then waved the chair closer while Newt settled back against the pillow. Neither let go of the other.

Newt smiled softly. “I thought you were in prison.”

Percy shrugged. “Hardly. Seraphina asked me to stay home for a few days so I’ve been working on the house and helping Jacob with the animals. Albus convinced her to give me a twenty-four hour reprieve.”

“That’s not long enough but I’ll take it.” Newt stroked Percy’s hand. “You’ve never touched me in public. Well,” he amended with a rueful smile, “a kind of public.”

Percy shrugged again only this time he smiled. “Things have changed, Newt. _I’ve_ changed.”

Words. They were just words, but somehow the combination of vowels and consonants made Newt’s chest ache. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Percy kissed Newt’s palm. “I won’t tell you what I’ve been thinking because it will— I will—” Percy shook his head, his smile and words fracturing.

So an ache that was really a pain and Newt squeezed. “I met your mother.”

“I know.”

“She’s very beautiful.”

Percy grinned. “She said the same thing about you.”

Face flushing, Newt said, “She did no such thing.”

“Well,” Percy said with a tip of his head. “No, she just said you’re very likeable but you could use a haircut.”

Newt frowned and then rolled his eyes. “You’re joking. I—” He smiled helplessly because Percy was being foolish and he was never foolish. It was an incredibly attractive quality. “Your grandmother is interesting. Why was she here again? I can’t remember.”

“Doctor Monroe asked her to come. He was worried about your wounds. Grandmother told me that you had close-wand scorch marks on your back and legs and that your hand was so infected she wasn’t sure she could save it.” Like a spasm of contracting muscles, Percy grimaced and then pressed his face against Newt’s hand. “She was actually worried. I’ve never seen her worried before.”

“But I recovered. With her help, I recovered.”

Percy looked up. His cheeks were flushed and his mouth was a long, thin line. “What did they do to you? Did you recognize them? Will you let me examine your memories? Maybe we can find out who they are and I can go—”

“No,” Newt interrupted evenly.

Percy’s grip turned to iron. “No?”

“No,” Newt repeated, hiding a wince. “One of the things I was most happy about while I was imprisoned in that castle was the fact that you _weren’t._ I am not going to give you any information that will lead you to them and you’re off your head if you think I would.”

Percy was silent a long moment. And then he sighed, deep and long, his whole body softening. “Hmph,” he finally conceded, adding with a glimmer of a smile, “Would you mind if I try to seduce it out of you?”

Newt grinned as heat warmed his belly. “You can try. In fact…” He pushed the covers down, just a bit. “I wish you would.”

“No,” Percy said with a sweet smile, “I think I’ll make you wait.”

“Tease,” Newt replied with mock anger.

“You deserve it after the stunt you pulled.”

“I suppose I do,” Newt said. “As I suppose you understand why I did it.”

“I do.” They were both quiet for another moment and then Percy asked, “What question was it, by the way?”

In a wonderful, _‘I’m here and Percy is here’_ daze, Newt shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

“When you woke up, you said that I hadn’t answered your question.”

“Oh, that,” Newt said. “I thought you were the professor.”

“Why would Albus be sleeping by your bed?”

Newt grinned. “I think you’ll need to ask him that one.”

“I think I shall but you didn’t answer my question about your question.”

“It was nothing. I just wondered how you and Thee found me in the first place.”

“Albus didn’t tell you?”

“He might have but I can’t be certain. I was fading in and out.”

“Well, it’s a long story that will have to wait. My twenty-four hours are almost up.”

Newt frowned and looked out the window. The sun was down but the sky still held a hint of greyish gold. “It can’t be. You’ve only just got here.”

“I’ve been here approximately twenty-three hours and forty-seven minutes,” Percy replied.

“What?” Newt sat up. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Percy smiled and leaned on one elbow. “Do you really need me to answer that?”

“Yes, I think I do.” Newt could feel the slight burn of anger that was no longer artificial. “I’ve spent days wondering if I’d ever see you again and to have even a few extra hours…” Never mind everything else, hadn’t he just come to the conclusion that time was too valuable a commodity to be spent willy-nilly? “We’re you just watching me sleep?” he complained, completely unprepared for Percy’s quiet answer.

“Yes.”

“I—” Newt began, feeling a flush of cold then heat. “I—” he tried again, having no better luck than the first time. “Percy.”

Percy took Newt’s hand. “Just being with you is not a pointless thing, Newt. I learned that over the course of the last week.”

Swallowing, Newt said, “What else?”

“That I have enjoyed my life but it had no meaning until you came along. That you sometimes make me crazy and I wish you’d look before you leap but I think I need crazy, I need impulsiveness.” Percy cupped Newt’s hand to his cheek. “But mostly I’ve learned how much I love you, because I love you so very much.” He shook his head. “Like one of those ridiculous no-maj plays, I only knew how much in hindsight when you were no longer with me.”

He knew, of course, that his worries in the castle were just that, but to hear the words…

Percy nodded. “Even now, you could rail at me and accuse but I know you won’t, even if I deserve it.”

“I imagine every couple goes through a period of adjustment, Percy,” Newt managed to say. “This was ours.”

“No,” Percy said, his voice dropping low. “Don’t do that. You know as well as I that if things had kept going the way they were, we’d be in trouble.”

Hesitating only a moment, Newt could only nod.

Percy glanced over his shoulder and then turned back to Newt. “If I know our Albus, he’ll be coming for me soon so I need to be clear on one thing even though I think I know the answer: am I too late? Do you still love me and wil—”

Once more, Newt stopped Percy the only way he could—with mouth and hands, forcing Percy back, not much caring if he used too much pressure because it was vital that Percy understand that nothing had changed for him and it shouldn’t be possible but he thought he might love Percy just a bit more than before and…

…and, he eventually let Percy come up for air. He drew back just enough to say against Percy’s lips, “In case you didn’t understand that, yes, Percival Graves, I’m still mad for you and yes to whatever you were going to ask next.”

“Newt,” Percy said with a smile that looked as helpless as Newt felt.

Whatever Newt might have said in answer was interrupted by a loud cough coming from the hallway. He slanted a look Percy’s way. “Will he die of embarrassment if he catches us kissing again?”

Percy grinned. “Albus? Not him. He’ll just be happy for us.” Percy stood up and straightened his waistcoat. “I have no idea if he’s alone, however.” He put on his coat and then waved his hand, lighting the oil lamps one by one. “Would you like to do the honors?” Percy asked, nodding to the door.

It was silly after all was said and done, but they’d only had a few minutes and now Percy had to leave, and Newt just shook his head.

Percy reached down and touched Newt’s cheek, then stepped back and called out, “You can stop being delicate, Albus.”

Newt snorted softly and then pulled the covers up when he realized that no, Dumbledore wasn’t alone. He came in with Tina, a nurse, a small parade of Aurors and a journalist.

“Please note, Auror Lopez” Dumbledore said, pitching his voice, “that Director Graves hasn’t fled the scene and will be returning to his domicile without any fuss.”

The journalist’s pen flew across her notebook as Tina surreptitiously waved at Newt. The nurse came over to Newt’s side; she picked up his chart and began poring over it.

“How are you feeling?” Dumbledore said, one eye still on the journalist. “All better?”

Unsure how to respond, Newt said only, “I’m well enough to leave.” Tina smiled crookedly at him.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” the nurse said tartly without looking up.

“Perhaps a light supper would be in order?” Dumbledore said. “The hero of the day needs to eat, after all.”

Thoroughly confused, Newt glanced at Percy and asked a silent, ‘ _What’s going on?’_ Percy frowned and shook his head and then was escorted out of the room, surrounded by Aurors. As she trailed after, Tina gave Newt another longing look. Only Dumbledore and the journalist remained.

“I’m sure Magizoologist Scamander is much too tired for an interview, young lady,” Dumbledore said as the journalist edged towards the bed. “Maybe tomorrow or the next day.”

The journalist’s pen stopped moving and she said, “Yes, but my readers—”

“Your readers can wait.” Dumbledore turned to the nurse. “Nurse Hephzibah? As I am leaving shortly, do you feel it’s proper for a young women and a young man to be alone in a room that is essentially a bedroom?”

Newt almost laughed out loud, but Dumbledore’s ploy worked. The nurse glanced up and her eyes narrowed. “No, I do not, Mr. Dumbledore,” She set the chart down and gestured towards the door. “Come this way, miss. You can have your interview at a more appropriate time in a more appropriate venue.”

The journalist protested but the nurse gave no quarter and soon Newt and Dumbledore were once more alone.

“What was that all about?”

Dumbledore took off his overcoat and draped it over a chair. “In good time, my dear boy, but I was serious about supper. Are you hungry?”

“I—” Newt began, only then realizing that yes, he was famished. “I believe I am.”

Dumbledore got out his wand and waved it over the bedside table. “When was the last time you ate?” In a moment, a tray holding a bowl of soup appeared with what looked to be a meat pie.

“I can’t remember.” He sat up picked up the bowl and a spoon. “What day is it? How long was I gone?”

Dumbledore sat down in a chair. “It is Sunday. It has been a full ten days since you started your journey, though three of those days were spent here.”

Spoon raised, Newt paused and then shook his head. “I thought it was something like four or five.” He shrugged and then tasted the soup. It was pumpkin and heavenly and he spoke no more as he ate it all down.

“When you were young,” Dumbledore said, watching with a smile, “you told me that it was very important not to feed a starving animal too much food or they will get sick and die.”

Newt grinned, remembering his own conversation with Modesty. “I did eat a little while I was there. I’ll be fine.” But he left half of the soup in the bowl and picked up the pasty. “And now you can explain this whole hero nonsense.”

Dumbledore nodded and crossed his legs. “I’m not sure how the word got out, but somehow the _New York Ghost_ got wind of your travels. They misunderstood and thought you’d gone to rescue a Muggle child. As Madam Picquery can’t set them straight without revealing certain secrets, the paper has been running with the story. Even the European presses have come calling. Their representatives are all milling about downstairs like a pack of unusually crabby house elves. When you leave, you’ll have to sneak by them. Unless you want to encourage the fiction that you’ve done something you haven’t, of course.”

Newt was about to say he could just apparate around them when he remembered—no wand. “No,” he said slowly. He was going to have to do something about his wandless state and soon. “I don’t want that.”

“I have a solution, if I may.”

Newt swallowed a bit of pie, and then mumbled, “And that is?”

“Set your brother on them. He’s had much experience with reporters and knows how to get on their good side without giving too much information.”

It was true—Thee always had a way with journalists, male and female; the subsequent articles were always glowing, if a little overblown. “It’s a good idea.” He took another bite. “Where is he, by the way?”

“He was glued to your bedside for the first day but then he went to visit Percy. Since then, he’s been very elusive. When I asked him where he’d been, he just gave me a bland smile and a _‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’”_ Dumbledore recrossed his legs. “I’m sure he and Percy are cooking something up between them.”

No longer hungry, Newt put the pasty down. “Such as?”

“It can only be revenge against those who imprisoned you.”

Newt wiped his hands and mouth, suddenly tired, worried, and very angry. “I told him— You must stop them, Professor.”

“I will.”

“No.” Newt leaned forward and grabbed Dumbledore’s arm. “No, I mean truly. The wizards and witches I had the misfortune to meet were …” He shook his head. “They were so cruel, Dumbledore. They’d killed a man before I got there and they were playing with the—” He swallowed, suddenly feeling sick and he hoped he wouldn’t throw up. “I can’t bear the thought of them getting hold of Percy. If they did…” He squeezed Dumbledore’s arm and dropped back to the pillows.

“You needed worry so, my boy. I have no intention of letting those two do anything stupid and you can forget getting out of that bed. You need to rest.”

Newt shrugged restlessly. He didn’t care about rest or sleep—he just cared about Percy. Well, Thee too, but mostly Percy. “And how are you going to stop them?”

Dumbledore smiled. “I altered a trace spell and cast it upon Percy’s overcoat and Theseus’s new boots. If they travel off this island, I’ll know it.”

Newt smiled slowly. “I’m glad you’re on our side, Professor. I—”

He never got a chance to finish because just then, Nurse Hephzibah came in with a tray of tea.

“Still at it, are we? And no tea, as well. We can’t have that.” She went over and drew the draperies closed. “The patient may look fine, Mr. Dumbledore, but he is not.”

Dumbledore waved away the tray of food. “I take it that’s my cue to leave.”

Hephzibah poured a cup of tea. “Was I too subtle?” She added a spoonful of sugar and gave the cup to Newt.

“Not in the slightest. Newton?” Dumbledore picked up his overcoat and then turned to look down at Newt. “I have no doubt you will be released tomorrow. We’ll continue our conversation then.”

Newt sipped the tea. “Thank you for dinner, Professor.”

Dumbledore pulled the door open. “You are more than welcome. Sleep well.” And then he was gone.

Feeling oddly deflated, Newt took another sip of tea and watched with eyes half closed as the nurse tidied the room.

“So that was the wizard who set Grindelwald off on his rampage?” Hephzibah said as wanded the chair back to its corner.

“Hmm?” Newt murmured. “Who told you that?”

Hephzibah shrugged and began putting out the lamps, one by one. “Everyone. We all know what happened at the Hollow.”

“Well, you are all wrong,” Newt replied with a frown. There was something wrong here, but he was so tired… “He did no such thing. He prevented a war.”

“He did, did he?” Hephzibah said with a chuckle that sounded as off as Newt felt. “War between the wizarding world and Muggles is inevitable, you foolish boy. We all know that, too.”

Newt pushed himself up. Hephzibah had left a single oil lamp on and he couldn’t see much other than her shadowy bulk by the window. “Muggles… I don’t— He squinted and shook his head. He felt odd, his head floaty and strange. “What’s going on?”

“Just give it a minute and you’ll see.”

“Who _are_ you.”

Hephzibah chuckled again, only this time she waved her wand and locked the door. “You should know—you almost got the best of me back on the island.”

Newt’s heart actually stopped beating. He felt it, the jerk and pulse as it started up again, as his cheeks flushed with fear and the hair on the back of his neck rose. He’d give anything to have his wand or Percy… “Who are you?”

Instead of answering, Hephzibah moved into the light of the single lamp. With another smile and a wave, her features and form began to change, blending and bleeding to someone much taller and thinner and…

“Kenhelm,” Newt whispered.

With a flourish, Kenhelm waved his wand and then bowed low in a mockery of a formal greeting. “It is I, indeed. What? Did you really think we were done with you?”

Newt shot a glance at the door.

“Oh, no. No one can help you, Scamander. They all think you’re sleeping the sleep of the recently healed.”

“And Nurse Hephzibah?”

Kenhelm sneered. “There is no Hephzibah. There never was.”

Head tipped Newt considered that. He had met Nurse Hephzibah the year before when he and Tina had helped port Percy to the infirmary. Hephzibah had been there, fussing and puttering about, getting underfoot if he remembered correctly. Which meant so many things, namely that he’d been right about the saboteur. “So which is your real face, the crone or the murderer?”

“Both, neither.”

Unable to help himself, Newt glanced at the door again. There was no way to reach it but maybe he could make a loud noise, knock something heavy over. “You must know that I have—”

Kenhelm raised his hand. “You have nothing—no recourse, no hope. All your friends have gone home, even that nosy bastard, Dumbledore.”

“And this is?”

“The final act in a very long play. Once I have what I came for, I’ll be off.”

“And that is?”

“We are going to perform a little rescue, you and I.”

Newt actually laughed. “You can’t be serious. You actually expect me to help you break that maniac out of prison?”

Kenhelm’s expression darkened, and he raised his wand and murmured under his breath. A lazy stream of light slid from the wand and began to coil around Newt’s throat. “I’d be more careful on how you speak of a man so clearly your superior.”

Newt wanted to stop the light stream but he couldn’t seem to make his hand do what he wanted. “I will no more be caref—”

Kenhelm tugged and the light rope tightened, choking Newt’s words. “You are going to help me and you are going to keep quiet or I am going to kill as many people as possible, Muggles included. After I remove your head from your body, of course.” He pulled on the rope. “Think of Ronnok as an object lesson of my intent and purpose.”

The light rope didn’t hurt but it was hot nonetheless and sweat broke out on Newt’s brow.

“Besides,” Kenhelm added, “you might as well not. I slipped a little something in your tea. It will make you a little less pigheaded.”

Newt swallowed because he could feel it, the laxness of his muscles and will. He could only play along, at least for the time being, and he nodded.

“That’s the ticket.” Kenhelm tugged again, forcing Newt out of the bed. “Now, I’ve been watching your sentries and we don’t have much time. Your alarm system is a bit of a bother, so we’re going to use the old lift along the old side of the building and from ther—”

“What old side of the building?” Newt asked. He leaned forward a hair and the light stream hardened, holding him at arm’s reach. Frustrating, but there wasn’t any way that Kenhelm could ever free Grindelwald… “And what old lift? There are just the two and they’re not old.”

Kenhelm backed up to the door, once more forcing Newt to move. “Maybe you should have spent your time in this building investigating your surroundings instead of mooning over your lover.”

Newt’s cheeks burned. “I did no—”

“ _Hush!_ ” Kenhelm interrupted as he put his hand on the doorknob.

Thinking to shout or at least call out, Newt opened his mouth but the light rope contracted. He scrabbled at the noose to no avail—he stood there, sweating and choking, unable to do anything but listen as someone passed by.

Kenhelm looked over his shoulder and grinned. “That was good,” he murmured when the sound of footsteps faded. “Very good. But we’re behind schedule so we’re going to hurry.” He pulled once more and the rope crackled and hissed. “Yes?”

Furious, powerless, Newt could only nod.

***

Silently, they hurried along the hallways until they came to a door that opened onto another corridor. It was dark and filled with cobwebs and dust. So Kenhelm had been right. About the old side of the building, that was—Newt would go to his grave before he agreed that he’d mooned about over anyone even though he had.

“Just down here,” Kenhelm murmured as he pushed Newt along. “Just a bit more…”

Newt stepped around a pile of bricks. There was a gaping hole in the wall a short distance away. Would it be possible to push Kenhelm into it? Probably not, if he wanted to—quite literally—keep his own head. “Where is your friend?”

“Friend?” Kenhelm asked absently. “Oh, you mean Shunpike? Sadly, he didn’t survive the journey to the States.”

“You mean you murdered him.” They had arrived at the hole and he realized it wasn’t a hole at all, just a shaft that had to have housed the old lift.

Kenhelm leaned through the frame. “If you must split hairs, yes, I did. He’d become a liability.” He backed up. “And I’d like to say I’m sorry I have to do this next thing, but you would know I was lying, so…”

There was a noise and Newt turned just in time to see Kenhelm coming at him, brick in hand. He tried to duck but of course couldn’t and Kenhelm hit him square on the temple. The light rope uncoiled and Newt dropped on all fours, struggling for breath against the world that lurched and spun. There was another noise, this one a grating squeal that made the dizziness worse. He thought he might throw up.

He waited but nothing came and he sat back on his heels, watching in a daze as Kenhelm raised the lift from the depths of the building. The lift screeched as it came to a stop.

Wand still pointing towards the lift, Kenhelm reached down and grabbed Newt by the hair and jerked.

“Stop,” Newt gasped, getting to his feet, bending sideways because it hurt so much. “I’ll not fight you. I’ll—”

Kenhelm shoved Newt inside the lift and in a moment, they were moving at a breakneck speed. The pace was too much and Newt’s vision swam and then darkened once more. When the car stopped with a jolt, Kenhelm pushed Newt out into another dark hall.

Newt dropped to his knees and tried to retch, not succeeding at all. But, little by little, his vision cleared and he looked around. Kenhelm was standing by the lift-less shaft, peering into the dark. _Now_ , Newt told himself, now was his chance and he even put his hands on his thighs but again, it was no use—he was so weak he could barely move.

“There,” Kenhelm said absently as he stepped back. “Only one more task and I’ll be done with you. You can go back to your room or go home.”

Newt wanted to laugh. Who did Kenhelm think he was fooling? There was no way he would survive the night if Kenhelm had anything to say about it—look at what happened to Ronnok? But all he said was, “Good,” as he struggled to his feet.

As if hearing his thoughts, Kenhelm snorted and then pointed his wand. In a moment, the rope was around Newt’s neck once more. “This way.”

Newt obeyed, staggering down the dark hall, touching the wall for balance. They turned a corner and then stopped at a steel door.

“Stay,” Kenhelm ordered, pushing Newt to the side with a simple outthrust of his arm.

Newt gulped down a hiss at the burn of the rope and stood there, on hand on the wall for support.

“We’re almost there,” Kenhelm said. “I know you’re planning your escape, so…” And then he murmured, “ _Langlock,”_ and Newt’s tongue arched to press against the roof of his mouth.

“Hnn,” Newt tried.

“As I said before, you might as well not bother. Now, come–” Kenhelm pushed him again, this time through the door.

Maybe it was the drugged tea, maybe it was the head wound. However or whichever, Newt had entirely missed that they were supposed to have gone down and not up. Now he looked around, surprised to find that they were on a very familiar floor and he stopped in his tracks. They were supposed to be rescuing Grindelwald, yes?

“Hnn,” he said again, because he’d been on this floor so many times, stalking his prey, casually leaning into the office to say things like: _‘I was just on my way to the commissary—would you care for a cup of coffee?’_ or _‘I just heard of a cafe on Reade Street that serves cold veal pies. Are you hungry?”_ Percy had always been busy and had always said no, but that had never stopped Newt.

“Yes,” Kenhelm answered, pushing Newt forward once more. “I knew you’d recognize the place.” He stopped before Percy’s office door. “Just as I know that you of all people can open this door so please don’t be stubborn or stupid. Just do it.”

Newt didn’t want to. He absolutely didn’t want to open Percy’s door but Kenhelm leaned closer and whispered, “Open it _now,”_ and it was no use. Hand shaking in an effort to disobey, Newt touched the doorknob. As always, it murmured a wordless welcome, charmed by Percy to do just so. As always, it unlatched and swung open.

“I knew it,” Kenhelm breathed. “His only weakness.” And then he shoved Newt and the door closed behind them.

Absently, Kenhelm tugged on the rope. “I am looking for a box made of ebony. Graves will have stored it in his most secure place, wherever that is.”

Before he could stop himself, Newt glanced at the cabinet that held the boline once owned by the first Gondulphus Graves. Kenhelm sneered with satisfaction and bowed elegantly, gesturing to the glass door.

Thoroughly confused, wondering if Kenhelm was looking for the portkeys, Newt touched the cabinet lock. The lock sighed and opened. He’d only seen Percy access the secret compartment once, and that was to secure an enchanted pentacle for Picquery. But he had no idea how to open the compartment and he shrugged his helplessness.

“Do it,” Kenhelm said.

Newt scooted the boline out of the way, then waved his hand over the compartment. Nothing. “Hnn, nn,” he said, wishing he could smile.

Kenhelm swore under his breath and tightened his grip on the wand. The light rope tightened as well, this time truly choking Newt. _“Now!”_

Swaying, wanting this to be over as it was driving him crazy, not being able to speak, he pressed the compartment lid. Still nothing and he slumped against the cabinet door. The athame that Percy said had once belonged to Mary Jauncy was on the shelf nearby. If only he get to it. If he could get to it he could use—

“What is _wrong?”_ Kenhelm muttered, crowding against Newt. “You’re the key! He told me so…” He grabbed Newt’s arm and shook him. “Try again!”

“He can try all night but I’m afraid it will be of no use.”

The both froze, Newt still collapsed against the cabinet and Kenhelm plastered against him. And then Kenhelm spun away. Just like that, Newt’s tongue relaxed and the rope vanished. He drew a breath of clear, sweet air and turned.

In the doorway stood Percy, Dumbledore, Picquery, and Tina. Behind were more Aurors. Percy was in his shirtsleeves as if he’d just come from dinner. Tina was fairly bouncing up and down, her face dark and angry. Everyone had their wands up and ready. Well, everyone except for Percy. He was just standing there, somehow too still, too calm. In his shirt pocket was a bit of green. It was Pickett, peering over the pocket’s fold.

“You…” Kenhelm breathed.

“That chamber can only be opened by two people and neither of them are Magizoologist Scamander,” Dumbledore continued in that same even tone. “I am sorry if Gellert lead you to believe otherwise.”

Kenhelm clenched his fists. “I should have known.”

Dumbledore stepped into the room. Percy followed. “Yes, you should have but you made the mistake that all Gellert’s followers make.”

“And that is?”

Dumbledore stepped forward; Percy followed. “That he cares a lick about you. I can assure you that he does not. He told you the item could be obtained and the boy could help you but he was just guessing. He had no way of knowing that Director Graves had changed the security measures.” Dumbledore smiled sadly. “In other words, Gellert took a chance, knowing you would pay the price should the information be false.”

Kenhelm’s jaw worked and then he snarled and lunged, grabbing Newt by the hair once again. He jerked, forcing Newt back towards the desk.

The magic’d tea was wearing off but Newt was still weak and a cry escaped his lips before he could stop it. Hands grasping Kenhelm’s in an effort to ease the pressure on his scalp, he was stumbling back when he heard a muted sound, like the whine of a newborn wrackspurt. Kenhelm shouted, dropped his wand, and let go. Newt fell against a chair.

Kenhelm limped to the desk, hands pressed around a long knife with a leather handle sticking out from the meat of his thigh. “You stabbed me!”

“Yes,” Percy answered calmly. “I did.”

Panting, Kenhelm raised his head. He stared at Percy and then, again with no warning, he freed the knife and made for Newt.

Kenhelm caught Newt by surprise but not Percy—with a sharp gesture, Percy tore the knife from Kenhelm’s hand and then lifted him. Kenhelm flew up to the high, tin-plated ceiling an—

“Graves!” Picquery shouted the same time Dumbledore called out, “Percy!”

Percy didn’t move. He didn’t slam Kenhelm into the ceiling but neither did he release him.

“Percy,” Dumbledore said again, this time gently.

Percy blinked. And then he looked at Newt.

Newt pushed away from the desk and staggered over. He put his hand on Percy’s arm. So, yes, Percy on the outside might seem calm and removed, but his temples were damp, his forearm muscles were rock hard. His power hummed beneath his skin like a living thing and Newt wanted only to lean into him and— “Percy.” Newt slid his hand up Percy’s arm, curving his fingers over his wrist. “You don’t need me to tell you what to do.”

Percy’s hand shook and his jaw clenched. And then he nodded shortly and lowered his arm. Like a stone, Kenhelm fell, stopping a hair’s breath away from the stone tile. Pickett chirped and craned his green head.

“Really?” Newt chided softly

Percy bent his lips in a stiff grin, then released Kenhelm fully. Kenhelm hit the floor with a thud.

Newt sighed, and looked away, meeting Tina’s gaze head on. Her eyes were stark; he swallowed and stepped away from Percy.

“Well,” Dumbledore said with a glance all around. “I believe Kenhelm was right—this _is_ the last scene of our many act play.” He turned to Picquery. “Madam President, I trust you’ll inform the ICW that we identified and caught our saboteur?”

Picquery nodded. “I will indeed. When you get a moment, will you let the Ministry? Graves, you know what to do with him.”

Percy gave Newt a fleeting glance, then finally spoke. “I do.” He gestured, cupping his hand as if scooping up water. Kenhelm got to his feet as his arms swung back; handcuffs appeared from nowhere and wrapped around his wrists. “Goldstein? Will you do the honors?”

Tina nodded fiercely and hurried over to Kenhelm. Followed by the other Aurors, she guided Kenhelm away, her voice fading as she spoke: “Wizard Kenhelm, by the powers of MACUSA, I hereby place you under arrest for the false imprisonment of Magizoologist Newton Scamander of London, England, the kidnapping of Miss Modesty Barebone of New York, New York and anything else we can charge you with. If you have anything to say in your defense…”

“Mr. Scamander,” Picquery said as soon as the crowd of Aurors was out of sight. “Once again, you’ve proven your worth. When you’re rested, I would like a word.”

Newt wanted to ask what that meant because it didn’t sound good. Before he could, Picquery swept from the room.

“I have to go with them,” Percy said, absently supporting Pickett as he climbed out of his pocket.

Newt just nodded.

“But I’ll be back shortly.”

Newt nodded again, this time reaching back to touch the cabinet, using it for support.

Percy hesitated, then gently touched Newt’s chin, turning his face to one side. “What did he hit you with?”

“A brick.”

Percy didn’t speak, didn’t move, but Dumbledore drew a sharp breath.

Newt cracked a smile, needing to make that stark look in Percy’s eyes go away. “I’ll be fine and if I’m not, I have the best mediwitches at my beck and call. Pickett? You can stay with me if you like.”

Pickett stuck his tongue out at Newt and climbed up to curl up under Percy’s shirt collar.

“He’s angry with you for leaving without a word,” Percy said.

“I think I’ll be apologizing for that for a while.”

“I think you will.” Percy let Newt go. “I’m sure Kenhelm was the only spy, but just in case…”

Newt really, really wanted to sit down but he made himself smile again. “I won’t budge from this room. I promise.”

Percy nodded. “Albus, take care of him.” And then he was gone, too.

Newt turned to Dumbledore. And swayed.

Quickly, Dumbledore raised his wand. “Just a moment, dear boy. I’m sure Seraphina won’t mind.” He murmured under his breath and a chaise lounge appeared by Newt’s side.

With a sigh, Newt dropped. It felt beyond good, sitting down, and he didn’t make a fuss when a mediwitch rushed through the door.

“I’m told we have an injur—” she said, hurrying to Newt’s side. “So it’s you again, Mr. Scamander. You do like to live in the thick of things, don’t you.” She peered at Newt’s temple, then got a small brown bottle and a large green tin out of her kit. “First that and now this. I suppose it’s just as well you never left the building.” She dabbed at Newt’s head with whatever was in the tin and then waved her wand above the wound. “Yes, it’s just as well. I’m told Nurse Hephzibah gave you a variation of a willpower sapping potion.”

“That would be my guess,” Newt answered. The soothing scent of _Achillea millefolium_ made him sigh. “And it wasn’t she.”

“So we’ve learned. Well, we’ll have you right in a trice.” The witch gave him the small brown bottle. “Drink this. It tastes like wet werewolf but it will do wonders.”

Newt drank it, grimacing at the taste. The witch hadn’t exaggerated.

“It _is_ nasty stuff” the witch murmured.

Newt smiled. The stuff may have tasted vile but it did indeed work—his head was clearing by the second. “Albus?”

“Yes, my boy.”

“What was he looking for?”

Dumbledore glanced at the witch, then said, “How is he, madam? At death’s door?”

The witch rolled her eyes. “Not even close. He’ll have a headache for a few days but other than that…” She shrugged and closed her kit. “I’ll be off to see how our other patient is doing.” She was gone before Newt could thank her.

Touching his forehead, Newt asked, “What other patient?”

“Kenhelm attacked the night guard,” Dumbledore said with a sigh. “The poor girl is in the infirmary with a cracked skull.”

Newt closed his eyes.

“It wasn’t your fault, of course, but you’ll believe what you’ll believe.”

“Professor?” Newt said. “All this…” He opened his eyes. “What was he looking for?”

Dumbledore hesitated and then got to his feet. He went to the cabinet and touched the hidden compartment. He whispered a spell, far too quiet for Newt to hear. With a click and a swoosh, the cabinet panel slid back.

Newt sat up. “You were the key? How— Why—”

Dumbledore drew a long black box out of the compartment, then waved his wand and drew a chair to the side of the lounge. He sat down. “Percival altered the spell a few days ago. He was worried about you, you see, and since he wasn’t able to guard you himself, he asked if I were up to the task.” Dumbledore placed his hand on the box. “And since guarding you required knowledge of certain secrets, Percy passed on this one. Only I have access. For the time being.”

Newt didn’t know what to say.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said with a nod. “He loves you that much.”

“What is it?” Newt finally asked.

Answering silently, Dumbledore unlatched the box and then tipped it so Newt could see inside.

It was just a wand. Long and spindly, it was made of dark brown wood and had an ivory band at the hand-end. It was stained and pitted with markings up and down the shaft. “What is it?” Newt asked again, leaning close.

“If I’m right, it’s the Elder Wand.”

“The Elder Wand?” Newt breathed, leaning even closer. “I’ve never heard of it.” He reached out, but Dumbledore smacked his hand away.

“Don’t touch. It’s an ancient, tricky thing; when it is used, death generally follows.”

“Oh,” Newt replied a little helplessly. It didn’t look especially deadly. Maybe ugly, but not deadly.

Dumbledore smiled. “Not everything that can kill you comes in an repellent package, young Newt. You should know that better than anyone. The Elder Wand is said to incite the worst in its bearer.”

Newt lay back. “How did Percy come by it?”

“Seraphina’s Aurors took it off Gellert when they captured him. He’d hidden it in a secret pocket of his overcoat. They tested it and tested it but it has stayed silent. As much as it pains me to admit it, it won’t give up its secrets so easily.”

“So,” Newt said, trying to make everything come together. “Were they after this the whole time?”

“My thinking at this point is that they had a two-pronged plan of attack with the end result being Gellert’s freedom.” At Newt’s frown, Dumbledore clarified: “They wanted the obscurus _and_ the wand. It makes sense. If Gellert’s goal is the destruction of the Muggle world, either would be a deadly addition to his arsenal. Used together, he’d be unstoppable.” Dumbledore waved his hand over the wand but again didn’t touch. “Merely escaping would be pointless without it. So the obscurus first and then…” He shrugged, as if that explained all.

“And you knew this so you were listening in on us tonight, Hepzi— I mean, Kenhelm and I.”

Dumbledore shut the box and rested both hands on it. “I had no way of knowing who she was but essentially, that is correct.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Dumbledore echoed a little crabbily. “Because it’s been a burr under my foot, the idea that MACUSA had a spy. Percy, Theseus and I have been wracking our brains these last few days when Percy had an epiphany.”

“And that was?”

“That it had to be someone who had full, intimate access to Gellert. MACUSA had questioned all of the Aurors and guards, but hadn’t thought to include the staff from the infirmary. He lied to you by the by.”

Newt frowned. “Percy?”

“No, Kenhelm. There was a real Hephzibah. She’d been with MACUSA since she was a young woman.”

“Was?” Newt asked with a sinking heart.

“Percy’s mother found her by means of divination an hour or so ago. Theseus—very reluctantly, mind you—went with Auror Lopez to retrieve the body.”

Newt couldn’t speak for a moment. He had no professional or filial ties to Hephzibah, but she’d died so that Kenhelm could affect his plan. It was unutterably sad. “Did she have any family?”

“I have no idea. We’ll find out.”

He nodded. “Why reluctantly?” He glanced up and then clarified because Dumbledore was frowning in confusion. “About Thee, I mean.”

“Because I found out that hothead and Percy were planning on breaking Gellert out so he could lead them to the witches and wizards that had hurt you. I needed to keep them apart while Kenhelm made his move. Even though we didn’t know who Kenhelm was or that he had a move _to_ make.”

“I understand,” Newt said. Kenhelm’s potion had worn off but growing exhaustion was making it hard to think. “How did you even know, though? Were you standing outside the room?”

“How did we know?” Dumbledore asked with a smile as he crossed his legs. “We used an event detection system designed by you.”

“By—” Newt cocked his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Your floobeatles. Percy told me you came up with the idea.” At Newt’s look of dazed comprehension, Dumbledore added, “Did you not see the jar on the sill? It was full of the little pests. By sleight of hand, I’d put a spell on Hephzibah’s wand that morning. When she first used magic, they lit up like they were on fire, which in turn activated my caterwauling spell. Within minutes, we were all aware that something was afoot. We had to wait, though, just to make sure.”

“Were you following me the whole time?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore simply. “There was no other way. Percy was furious, of course, and it was only after I threatened to port him over to Azkaban did he shut up.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry.”

Newt looked up. Dumbledore was leaning towards him, watching with unusually contrite eyes. “It’s all right, Professor. I would have agreed had I known.”

Dumbledore nodded. “That’s exactly what I told Percy. And now…” He stood up and went to the cabinet. “I must write that letter to the Ministry and then I’m off for bed. I’m far too old for all this running around.” He put the box back in its nest and then turned. “I trust you’ll stay here as promised.”

Newt grinned feebly. “As promised. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good boy,” Dumbledore said approvingly. With a pat on the shoulder, Dumbledore left.

Alone, Newt lay back on the couch. He really was exhausted, but in that, _‘I’m so tired I can’t possibly sleep,’_ way and he wondered if anyone would care if he snuck down to the cells to be with Percy. He was lying there, still wondering, when he heard the sound of soft footsteps. He sat up eagerly to find that it was just Tina, slipping through the open door. “Hello,” he said.

She cracked a smile and with a glance back, came in. “Hello,” she finally said.

Newt lay back. “I feel like it’s been an age since I’ve seen you. How are you? You got your hair cut.”

Tina touched the back of her neck and bobbed her head. “I did. Last week. I got tired of always brushing it out of my eyes. And me too—about the ages part. It’s been a strange week.”

Newt smiled. “It has.”

Tina sat down and clasped her hands together. “Newt. I know this isn’t the time or place, but I need to…” She looked down at her hands. “I was wondering…”

He really hadn’t been lying—it felt like years since he’d last talked with her and he suddenly remembered the nightclub and the questions and Queenie and her sad smile. Suddenly tired of all the dissembling and evasions that had been his choice only not, he said, “Ask your question.”

“You and Director Graves… Queenie said you and he are…” She flushed a bright red and stuttered to a stop.

Newt swallowed and then said plainly, “We are, Tina. I should have told you from the beginning.”

She laced her fingers together. “That long?”

“Since I was in school.”

She looked up, her eyes wide. “You mean he… And you let him—”

He covered her hands. “No, not like that… Not…Sorry, I’m just—” He took a deep breath. “When I came here that first time, I never thought… I liked you so very much, you see, and I never thought he and I…” He squeezed. “I should have told you but at the time there was nothing to tell.”

“And now?”

“And now there is. I’m—” He shrugged, unable to help a little smile.

She actually blanched and thick tears welled up in the corner of her eyes. She pulled free. “I see.”

“Tina—” he tried, his smile completely gone, but she was already standing, already backing away. He got to his feet. “Tina!”

It was no use. She hurried from the room, wiping eyes with the heel of her hand. Newt was still on his feet, swaying and staring at the empty doorway when Percy stepped through.

“Hello,” Newt said a little helplessly.

Percy came over and, ignoring the chair, pushed Newt back down and sat beside him. “You told her.”

“She wanted to know.” His chest and throat ached. “I should have lied.”

“Maybe,” Percy said. “But probably not. No more lies, for either of us, yes?”

Newt nodded. Percy’s arm was warm and he smelled of ink and linen. “Yes. No more lies.”

“I was just talking to Seraphina,” Percy said after a moment. “I realize how exhausted you must be but we have one more task before we can go home.”

“Confirm that the obscurus _is_ Credence?”

“And make sure the girl is all right.”

It was impossible, Newt thought. All he wanted to do was go back to the flat and get into bed with Percy. They could make love, they could just lie there and sleep—he didn’t much care, his only required elements being _bed_ and _Percy._ But Percy was right and so he nodded, no doubt unenthusiastically, and stood up again. “Let’s go.”

***

If he’d had time to think at all, he would have assumed two things: that MACUSA had installed Credence and Modesty in the cells down in the basement and that he’d have his work cut out for him in regards to somehow converging the obscurus and the obscurial. But when Percy led him from the room, they went not to the lifts, but to the right and then to a room three doors down.

Percy paused at the door. “We decided we couldn’t take a chance on letting the obscurus out so we took a page out of your book.”

“And that means?”

Percy touched Newt’s elbow. “You’ll see,” he said and then opened the door. The door opened to another, this one closed as well. Percy opened it and Newt stepped into a house. A normal, American house. There was a parlor on the right and a dining room on the left and a kitchen at the end of a long hall. “A page out of my book,” he murmured.

“Hm, mm,” Percy confirmed. “Thee helped me with the water systems—they were devilishly hard.”

Newt stepped onto the linoleum floor. “And Picquery approved it all?”

“Not at first. Albus convinced her that tossing the girl in a cell would terrify her and we needed her happy.”

“Because of the obscurus.”

“Exactly. We reasoned that if she was content, the obscurus would be, too.”

“Where are they?”

Percy touched Newt’s hand. “Probably in the back yard.”

Newt raised an eyebrow and followed Percy. His first attempts at creating something as simple as a yard had been disastrous and had taken months. Trust Percy to do it in one go—he was just that good. It reminded Newt of the Percy he’d first known, clever and powerful and willing to try anything.

“What is it?” Percy asked.

Newt hooked his arm under Percy’s and didn’t answer.

“I see,” Percy murmured, glancing at Newt from the side of his eye. “We’ll be home soon.”

Again, Newt didn’t answer but only because they’d reached the back door. Percy had said backyard, but it was more of a small park, complete with a swing set and a teeter-totter, surrounded by a thick line of trees. “Very impressive.”

“I was hoping she liked it,” Percy said absently. “I haven’t had time to visit.”

There was no sign of Modesty or the obscurus. “Who’s been watching them?”

“Albus and Lopez along with several owls and crows. Seraphina wants to restrict more contact until the girl is settled in.”

“I wond—” Newt started to say only be interrupted by a shout of laughter coming from the trees. He dropped Percy’s arm and stepped forward. Sure enough, a familiar figure emerged from around a Hawthorne. She was carrying a wand-length branch, her hand in—

“Credence,” Newt breathed, overjoyed at the sight of the young man, a little paler, a little thinner, but very much there.

Modesty looked up and saw Newt at the same time. She shouted, “Newt!” and then three things happened at once: Percy came to stand by Newt’s side, Modesty’s eyes widened in terror and she began to scream, and Credence ran forward to wrap Percy in an embrace that was far too happy, far too intimate.

His mouth open in surprise, Percy stared at Newt. Just as flabbergasted, Newt stared back.


	6. The Jay Blue Coat

Book VI—The Jay Blue Coat

 

To say Newt was uncharacteristically silent as they made their way home up Broadway was, Percy thought, the understatement of the year. He himself was still in shock at the children’s reaction to him—one so scared she could barely look at him and the other so apologetic and so— He shook his head and muttered, “What did he _do_ to them?”

“Hm?” Newt said, raising his head as if coming up for air. “Oh, Grindelwald. Probably what he did to everyone: seduced Credence until he had everything he wanted and terrorized the hell out of Modesty.”

Another shock, Newt’s language, because Percy couldn’t remember him ever swearing. “You don’t think he actually made love to that boy, do you?”

“I have no idea,” Newt said. “But it would seem so.”

Percy wanted to kick something but there was nothing in sight to kick so he settled for touching a lamppost as he walked by. As for Newt he just kept walking, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his borrowed overcoat.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather…” Percy gestured as they crossed Murray Street. “It will be quicker.”

“No, walking is fine,” Newt said. “Besides,” he added, nodding to the half empty streets, “it’s nice out here with no one else around and it’s only another block. And I don’t have my wand.”

Stopping himself before he could say, _‘You don’t need a wand with me,’_ Percy just mumbled, “All right.”

***

In the past, Percy would never have allowed them to enter Newt’s building together but now he thought, _What the hell,_ and held the door open for Newt.

They trudged up the stairs, first Newt and then Percy, both still silent. When they got to the door, Percy said another silent, _‘Oh, well,’_ and unlocked the door with a wave of his hand before Newt could reach for his key.

Newt shot him a quick, odd glance but only said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Inside, the apartment was dark and quiet. No creatures, no Jacob—nothing but the muted roar from a passing automobile and the sound of the mantle clock that Newt had purchased because he said it would help them pass as human. “I thought we’d stay up here tonight.”

“All right.”

“Do you want to check on your animals?”

Newt shook his head. “I’m sure you and Jacob took care of them. I’ll see them in the morning.” Newt hung Percy’s coat on the hook beside the door. “I’m filthy. I’m going to take a shower.”

“Do you need any help?” Percy said, thinking of a naked Newt and all that wet skin.

But Newt gave him another odd glance and said, “No, thank you,” and then went to the bathroom and shut the door.

Hell. And damnation, Percy thought, his mood darkening. Events happening as they’d had, his only anticipation and need was to get Newt home so they could be together. “Looks like that’s not going to happen anytime soon,” he muttered to no one at all.

“What was that?” Newt called out from behind the bathroom door.

“Nothing.”

“Oh.”

Sighing, Percy removed his tie and coat. He sent both off to the bedroom and went to the kitchen to make Newt a cup of tea.

He was moodily staring at the bobbing tea bag when he felt something stirring in his pocket. It was Pickett, climbing out. Percy helped him, setting him carefully on the countertop. “Newt won’t be happy if he sees you up here.”

Pickett just shrugged, or tried to because it was hard to shrug without shoulders.

“Have you seen Dougal?”

Pickett pointed to the bedroom and, presumably, the suitcase.

“Is he all right?”

Pickett shrugged again.

“Are _you_ feeling okay?” Percy said.

Pickett shook his head and sat on the edge of the counter.

“You’re worried about Newt, aren’t you?”

Pickett nodded.

“Join the crowd.”

Pickett frowned and Percy remembered that bowtruckles had trouble with idioms and he was starting to explain when the bathroom door opened. Picket jumped up and hid behind the teacup as Percy turned.

Newt came in, wearing only his trousers. He was still damp and rubbing his hair with a towel. His gaze kept missing Percy’s.

Heart in his throat, Percy flicked his fingers and warmed the room.

“Thank you,” Newt said. “Is that for me?”

Percy nodded and gave Newt the cup, exposing Pickett.

“Pickett,” Newt sighed. “Whatever are you doing up so late?”

Pickett said something far too quiet for Percy to hear; not that it mattered—he had trouble with bowtruckle language.

“Be that as it may,” Newt said reaching out and cupping his hand so Pickett could climb onto his hand. “You need your sleep or you’ll be out of sorts all day tomorrow.” Cradling Pickett Newt turned. “And never mind that, I’m sure your friends will be qui…” Newt’s voice died. Slowly, he went into the living room.

With a soft, _“Lumos,”_ Percy followed as candle after candle burst into flame.

Newt was silent for a long moment and the he said, “I hadn’t seen— What is all this?”

“I had time on my hands,” Percy said, coming up to stand by Newt. “I thought Albus told you.”

Newt turned in a slow circle. “He told me that Picquery ordered you to stay home, but I assumed that meant your flat and…”

It had been an effort to stay busy as much as a labor of love. With the manual assistance of Jacob and decorating advice from his mother, Percy had started first on the living room and then kitchen and bedroom. He’d painted the living room in a soft grey-green that reminded him of the color of Newt’s eyes, and the kitchen in a bright yellow because he liked yellow and thought Newt would, too. He’d put down new tile and carpeting and draperies in the all the rooms. Rescuing Newt’s family pictures from the bedroom, he’d placed them on the mantelpiece on either side of the clock. “I haven’t had time to work on the bathroom. I’ll get to it this weekend.”

Newt didn’t answer. He was staring at the painting over the mantelpiece. He went to stand before it.

Percy followed.

Until his mother had ported it over, he’d completely forgotten about the painting and he looked at it now, trying to see it as Newt saw it:

It was a formal portrait of a family, a man and a women and their two children. The parents were sitting under a vine-covered arbor that was in full flower. Butterflies and birds rested on the blooms and branches. At the couple’s feet were two large hunting dogs, a black hound and a tan setter. The woman was cradling a baby wrapped in a colorful blanket and the man’s arm was wrapped around the girl sitting between them. On the girl’s lap rested an old, dull crystal orb; the girl was staring out with dark eyes that seemed to look straight into Percy’s heart. She had one hand on the orb and the other on the baby’s pink foot. As for the baby, he was gazing at the girl, one fat fist reaching up as if to grab her long hair.

There was a brass plaque nailed the frame: _Gaelan Overton Gondulphus, Dandrenor Chilam Rebecca, Dindrane Dena Evaine, and Percival Gondulphus._

“That is your family,” Newt murmured. “That is your mother and father and sister and you.”

Percy nodded. “It is. The family story is that the painter had to block me in because I wouldn’t sit still. He finished me later when he was in his studio.”

“I always pictured your father with dark hair and eyes,” Newt said, examining the man.

Percy shrugged, taking in his father’s imposing figure, his gold hair and pale skin. “Father is a throwback to the first Gondulphus Graves.” He slipped an arm around Newt’s waist. “I take after my mother and her family, the Roches. You’ll see for yourself—there are more than a few paintings and portraits of the family at Greyfield.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want to see the bedroom?”

Newt nodded.

He hadn’t had much time to do anything other than paint the walls a muted blue and change the furniture and draperies.

Newt went over to the bed and stroked the dark wood, rubbing the raised pattern of berries and flowers. He turned to the dresser and its new mirror. Absently, he set Pickett down in the bowl where they both kept their spare no-maj money. “What is this?” he asked, touching the chest that Percy had placed there the day before.

“It was the wedding gift from my father’s people to my mother’s. It’s very old, very precious.”

“Why is there a turtle on the lid?”

“Because my mother’s people believe the world was once carried on the back of a great turtle. She has many pieces of jewelry with the same design.”

Newt thumbed the worn wood. “What’s inside?”

“Open it and see.”

Newt lifted the lid. He stared at the orb but didn’t touch. “This is the crystal ball from the painting. It was your mother’s?”

“It was the first Chilam’s, my mother’s ancestor. She made it with Charity Wilkonson’s help in 1612. Mother never liked it, though. She always said it fought her, so when she began her serious practice, she had a glass made just for her.”

“And why do you have it?”

Percy reached around and touched the orb with his fingertip—it hummed and glowed and then quieted. “Because I used it to find you. With Mother’s help, of course.”

Newt looked at Percy in the mirror. “I thought—” He frowned. “You told me you didn’t have your mother’s powers. You said…”

“I know,” Percy answered, a little helplessly because Newt was watching him as if he were a stranger. “I didn’t lie, exactly. I just thought it was gone, and…” He trailed off with a shrug.

Newt made an odd face, a wince that wasn’t quite a wince. “That first night on the island, I had a dream. You were in it and so was your mother.” He brought Percy’s arm around his waist. “It wasn’t a dream, of course. Your mother told me and I suppose in my heart of hearts I knew it, too.” He laced his fingers with Percy’s. “How many times?”

“Five, in all. The first was…” He chose his words delicately—he had no intention of opening the can of worms that was the vision of the snake. Not now, at least. “The first was a nightmare. The rest were easier but fruitless. It was only when I used this…” He nodded to the orb, “…that I finally saw where you were.”

“Oh.”

Percy stepped into Newt’s warmth. Newt’s colorless answers and quiet questions were beginning to worry him. Newt was many things but rarely was he quiet and never, ever colorless. “What’s wrong?”

Newt raised Percy’s hand and held it against his chest. “Why now? Why—?” He nodded towards the orb, the new furniture and curtains.

“Because my other apartment was only ever a place for me to sleep and I finally realized that.” Percy kissed Newt’s bare shoulder. “Because I wanted to make a home for you, as much as you had for me.”

Newt swallowed.

“And, I suppose,” Percy added, glancing at mirror Percy and mirror Newt, “because it was time. Father has been asking about you and Mother is going home tomorrow to open up the west wing.” He kissed Newt again, this time on his neck. “They’ve accepted you into the family; it’s time I did.”

Newt was shaking now and Percy tugged his hand free so he could wrap both arms around Newt. His mirrored self did the same and he thought for the first time how well they were suited, one so dark, one so fair, balancing each other out in so many ways.

“Percy?”

“Yes?”

But instead of answering, Newt turned. With his hands on Percy’s chest, he pushed until they were next to the bed. Bedclothes off with a quick jerk and then Percy on his back with Newt on top, wrapped around him like a fairy squid.

“I need to get up,” he reminded Newt. “I’m wearing my shoes.”

“I’m not stopping you from taking them off but I spent a week not knowing if I’d ever see you again,” Newt mumbled into Percy’s neck without moving an inch. “Which means that you’re not going anywhere for a long, long time.”

Familiar words and Percy remembered, _‘I’ve dreamed of this so many times, you here with me,’_ and so he just removed what he could and didn’t bother with the rest. “All done.”

“Good.”

What with one thing and the other, Percy hadn’t thought beyond finding Newt and getting him home. The hunt, the retrieval and then the recovery—he supposed in his heart of hearts he’d assumed that lovemaking would be in there somewhere but now, with Newt in his arms in their own bed, he discovered that it was the perfect ending to their awful adventure.

And so he drew the covers over them, stroking Newt’s back and swallowing hard when Newt murmured, _“Percy.”_

***

Percy dreamed of walking on ice and snow, of a cold snake that kept trying to slink up his legs. He recognized the dream for what it was and told himself to wake up, only truly succeeding when a loud tapping broke through the barrier between the waking and sleeping world. “Hmm?” he said, waving still-sleepy fingers to light the gaslight near the bed.

“It’s a crow,” Newt said.

Alarm swept away any remnants of sleep. Percy sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. Newt was at the window, pushing up the sash. The crow hopped onto the windowsill. “She’s one of my father’s,” Percy said. Sometime during the night, Newt had changed into his pajamas.

Newt shut the window. “Does your father often send you crows?”

Spying Percy, the crow flew over and landed on the nightstand. “Never.” In the crow’s beak was a playing card. Percy held out his hand and the crow dropped the card into his palm. “Her name is Zora and she usually stays at Greyfield.”

“I see.”

Percy glanced up. Newt was standing by the window, half turned from Percy. “It might be nothing,” he said, patting the bed. “Come back.”

Newt nodded and sat on the edge of the bed.

His thigh pressed against Newt’s, Percy waved his hand over the card. “My father always encodes his messages,” he murmured as the card raised into the air and transformed into a large scroll. It unrolled itself and announced in his father’s voice: _“Percival, I had hoped to greet you in person, my boy, but that will have to wait. I’m writing on behalf of Albus Dumbledore, Auror Scamander, and Seraphina Picquery. As you might have surmised, something catastrophic has happened: Gellert Grindelwald has escaped. Right now things are at sixes and sevens but what we know is that someone managed to transplant a seedling Venomous Tentacula inside of MACUSA. The plant attacked the guards and released Grindelwald via an acidic spore. Grindelwald then, apparently, found a way to free that bastard, Kenhelm. We’re not sure what happened next but Kenhelm and the Tentacula accessed your strongbox via the room next to yours. It stole the wand and brought it to Grindelwald. Three of your Aurors died and nine have been injured. Kenhelm is dead, as well._

_‘On the heels of that news, Langdon Shaw made a formal announcement on the steps of the capital. He’s formed a committee with the city; they are going investigate witch activity. Immediately after, a young no-maj was stoned near Central Park. Apparently he had a limp and someone thought it was a sign of a witch. The boy survived but our community is growing nervous. You and your Aurors will be hard pressed to keep order amid the panic.’_

There was a sound of an indrawn breath, as if Percy’s father had sighed deeply: _‘We all realize that your first response will be to return to MACUSA but we urge you to stay put, at least for a sennight. We have time in regards to Shaw. As for Grindelwald, we are too late. The devil has already been seen in Nova Scotia where he and his people killed a no-maj ferryboat captain. There is nothing you can do right now. I imagine even that won’t convince you so I’m asking you to think of Newton Scamander. If you return to the office, no doubt he will as well and according your grandmother, the boy needs his rest. At the moment, Seraphina is meeting with the Congress; I am heading there as soon as I finish this note. She will contact you as soon as she is able. They’ll hold services for the dead in three week’s time.’_

There was another pause and when Percy’s father spoke again, his tone was soft deep: _‘I know you will feel some sense of responsibility about all this, son, but I want you to remember that none of this was your fault and that we have lived through dark times before. If you must, see it as the calm before the storm. Your mother and Grandmother will stay at Greyfield in case you decide to visit. Take care of yourself.’_

His father’s voice fading, Percy let the parchment roll up. He stared at the floating scroll and then murmured, “‘Flowers.’”

“Flowers?” Newt said. “I— What on earth does that mean?”

Percy waved and the scroll reverted to its original form. Another flick of his fingers and the playing card burst into flame. The crow bobbed its head and clacked its beak. “After you left, Albus went to visit Grindelwald. I went with him. Grindelwald spouted a lot of nonsense but one of things he said was that his followers and flowers were gathering. Neither Albus or I knew what it meant and then I forgot about it.” His father had been so right—guilt was already curling in his belly and he had to fight the urge to get up and leave. “With everything that happened I just forgot.”

Newt took Percy’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Do you want to know what I think?”

He turned. Though Newt’s eyes were dark with exhaustion and he was watching Percy steadily, his expression unusually bland. “Always.”

“I think your father is right. We all knew this would eventually happen. It’s almost a relief now that it has. And there _is_ nothing you can do that isn’t already being done. Besides,” Newt leaned against Percy’s. “I’m told your trip to England was the first holiday you’d taken in years and we both know it wasn’t much of one. Well,” Newt added, giving Percy a soft, lopsided grin that lacked a surfeit of humor. “Most of it wasn’t.”

“‘I’m told,’ means?”

“Your personnel records,” Newt said with a shrug. “The basement in MACUSA holds a lot of secrets.”

Percy tried to be angry. “And you don’t mind snooping.”

“When it comes to you, no, I don’t.”

Newt’s tone was even and firm, giving no ground and Percy shrugged nascent indignation away. “And your solution is?”

“A real holiday. Either here in the States or in England. Just for a week or so, let’s get away from everything that has to do with Grindelwald or MACUSA or The Ministry of Magic.”

Percy thought about it, weighing all the pros and cons, finding much more of the latter than the former. “I really don’t think it’s the right time for a vacation,” he said slowly. “There is so much to do.”

“There’s never going to be a right time, Percy.” When Percy hesitated, Newt rubbed his cheek against Percy’s shoulder. “If you need more convincing, I can owl Albus and Thee.”

Percy swallowed a lump. He’d recognized the look on Newt’s face—Newt was waiting for the inevitable, the _‘it sounds nice but work comes first,’_ spiel he always resorted to when he had felt cornered by what he wanted versus what he could accept. “Please don’t. I love your brother but I’ve had enough of him for a while. He’d probably say the same about me.”

Newt’s smile bloomed. “Then you agree?”

“I don’t want to go as far as England but somewhere nearby would be fine.”

“I’ve always wanted to visit Greyfield.”

Percy raised an eyebrow. “I know that look.” And that tone. “What did your brother tell you?”

Newt grinned. “Nothing much. Just that Greyfield is one of the oldest wizarding enclaves in the United States. It sits on top of a mountain in the Kaaterskill Wild. Very few people are allowed to visit but your family holds an annual Hunter’s Moon Ball that is the talk of the wizarding world. Oh, and that there’s a pub in a nearby village that sells a lager that one has to try to believe.”

The words were so very much Thee’s and not Newt’s. “It _is_ good, though my parents haven’t held a ball in years; maybe it’s time we revive the tradition.”

If possible, Newt’s face brightened even more.

“What about the obscurial?”

Newt’s face fell.

“Will it be all right to leave him?”

“No,” Newt said with a slow shake of his head. “I’m going to have to work very closely with him to prevent any mishaps. He shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“Can he travel if he’s in human form?”

“I’m not sure.” Newt raised his head. “You mean we can bring him with us?”

“And the girl. They’re best together, yes?”

“Percy…”

“We can go separately so there will be no more…” He shrugged and quirked his lips. “Mishaps.”

“Credence meant nothing by it. It was Grindelwald that had done whatever it was to him, not you.”

“I know.”

“But you’re right, it’s best we keep you out of reach.” Newt looked down at Percy’s mouth. “You’re far too tempting.”

“Newt.”

Newt said nothing for a moment and then he twisted his lips and said, “I was jealous. Did you know?”

“Yes.” And then, because Newt had given him the truth, he gave the same, “Just as I was jealous when you went to that nightclub with Tina.”

Newt thought about that, then said, “Just to be clear, it wasn’t just Credence. It was also Ainsworth and seemingly anyone who came in close contact with you.”

Ainsworth? She was a passable Auror but a silly girl. “There was no need.”

Newt sighed and then rubbed Percy’s hand with his thumb. “It will be light soon and I’ve much to do if I’m to go on holiday.” He started to get up but Percy stopped him.

“You need more rest. I can take care of the animals.”

Newt took a breath, no doubt to argue, and then he deflated and smiled. “I have to admit the thought of getting everyone ready for the journey sounds a bit exhausting.”

Percy disentangled himself and stood up. “Then back to bed. I’ll take care of everything.”

Newt got back in bed. “I’ve got to get a temporary wand.”

“I’ve got my old school wand. If that doesn’t suit you, there’s a shop near MACUSA. It’s not Ollivander’s but it will do in a pinch.”

“Don’t forget to owl Seraphina and your father.”

Percy turned down the gas lamp. “I won’t.”

“And let Jacob know? He’ll worry, elsewise.”

“I will.”

“The flitterbies will be preparing for their second molt. You’ll need to make sure they have plenty of nectar.”

“I will.” Zora hopped onto Percy’s shoulder.

“And watch out for the bicorn—she’s getting ready to calve.”

Percy went to the window and closed it. “I know. I’ll keep an eye on her.” He pulled the draperies. “And I’ll stay out of her reach.”

“It is an awful lot of work,” Newt said with a frown. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Percy went to stand by the bed. He gazed down, taking in the shape of Newt’s body under the blankets, his beautiful eyes and wide, expressive mouth. “I lived that same week, Newt. Everyone said you would be back and I believed them only I didn’t, too. When we found you…” Percy shrugged. “If you want me to port to Africa and bring you back a sphinx, I’ll do it. If you want me to swim across the Amazon, I’ll do that, too. In other words, I love you and I want to do things for you and taking care of the animals is nothing.”

By the time Percy had finished speaking, Newt’s eyes were squinty and his mouth was crooked. He reached up and snagged Percy’s shirt.

Zora cawed in alarm as Percy bent low, one hand on the headboard for support. He kissed Newt, ignoring Zora’s complaining, all his attention on Newt and his sweet mouth.

***

While reciting the note for his father, Percy retrieved a sleepy Pickett and went out to the living room. Zora eyed Pickett curiously and Percy told her what would happen if she indulged that curiosity. She grumbled but flew over to the window to wait.

When he’d finished the letter to his father, he transformed the scroll into a subway ticket and gave it Zora. She waited for Percy to open the window, then took off with a bob of her head.

One task down, Percy went to the kitchen and made a cup of coffee while he informed Seraphina of his decision to take a two-week vacation. He kept his recitation dry and impersonal, not saying anything other than it was necessary. He folded the note into the shape of a dove and sent it on its way.

Picking up his coffee, he held his hand out to Pickett. “Come on,” he said. “You can help me figure out what kind of nectar to use for the flitterbies.”

***

Most of the animals were fast asleep. Percy set Pickett down on a potted dittany and got to work.

He’d fed the flitterbies and was back in the office, looking through Newt’s handwritten, _The Care & Feeding Guide of Eastern & Western Imps and Lesser Pixies _because Newt’s imp had come down with a head cold when something made him pause. He went to the desk. The picture, the one that had been lying face down was nowhere to be seen. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen it which meant Newt could have put it away a few weeks ago or a month ago.

He tapped the desk, wondering if he could get away with a _reperio_ spell, deciding that he’d do what he’d done before: trust that Newt would tell him in his own time.

***

Percy finished up just as the sun peered above the horizon. He washed his hands, said he’d see Pickett later on that day, and went upstairs.

He packed what little he had to pack, and made breakfast—eggs and ham because Newt needed fattening up—and then went to wake him up.

***

While Newt retrieved the obscurial and the little girl, Percy floo’d home. The manor was curiously silent and as he brushed ash off his overcoat, he went out into the great hall. The only living thing in sight was a crow perched on his father’s hat stand. The crow, young and unfamiliar, called out around the envelope in its mouth and launched into the air.

Holding his hand up as he’d been taught when he was a child, Percy let the bird land and then took the envelope. “And who are you?” he asked the crow. The crow cocked his head. Percy raised his hand. “Well, be off with you.”

The crow nodded and then flew up the staircase, disappearing into the gloom.

The note, written in lavender ink in his mother’s hand, was very short: _‘Percy, as much as I wanted to greet you myself, your Grandmother and I felt it best if you and Newt had the house to yourself. We’re off to Paris to consult with your aunt about this latest news regarding LShaw. We’ll be gone for a fortnight. The west wing has been thoroughly cleaned and all the linens have been changed. I’ve given the staff the next two weeks off. Please remember the poltergeist in your Great-Aunt Mimsie’s room. The nasty old thing refused to vacate to the attic and will leave you alone if you leave it alone. M.’_

Well, Percy thought, feeling a bit more at ease. It was all fine that his parents seemed to have accepted Newt, but it was one thing to know it and another to have to live it.

Whistling softly, feeling as if he chest had filled with light, he ran up the stairs, glancing around to see what had changed.

***

At ten he received an owl from Newt saying that there had been a complication and that he and the children would be traveling by train rather than floo and should arrive by late afternoon. There was no need, Newt added, for Percy to pick them up at the station as a very friendly wizard in the Travel & Mapmaking Department created a map of the environs surrounding Greyfield and he’d find his own way to the manor.

Disappointed but not surprised, Percy tucked the note away, wondering a little sourly who the friendly wizard was and how friendly he’d actually been.

***

With time to spare, Percy changed into an old cotton shirt and duck pants and ended up doing odd chores about the house until lunchtime. He kept his mind blank, only allowing the occasional fantasy of Newt naked in bed to worm its way by his defenses. He ate by himself in the kitchen. When he was done, he went up to the east wing and unstuck his old bedroom window while he conversed with the three ladies in the painting of the annual Hexennacht feast.

Sometime after two, the ladies all fell asleep and Percy finished with the window. He went down to the solarium and, restless but also tired, he lay down on the loveseat for a nap.

He was dreaming about sitting under a white tent at a long table laden with food and drink. All around, a dark ocean lapped at the walls of the tent. Next to him sat Newt. They were discussing the proper way to capture a felon and he was just saying, _‘Newt, if you ever…’_ when he heard his name.

It happened again, this time as a question, “Percy?”

He opened his eyes. Newt was sitting on the edge of the sofa. The sun brightened his hair and turned his eyes a dull green. “Hello.”

“Hullo.” Newt smiled. “You were talking in your sleep.”

Percy nodded sleepily. “I was dreaming of Walpurgis Night.”

“You were?”

“Hm. We were debating the merits of _incarcerous_ versus _immobilus_ as the best means of subduing a criminal.”

Newt cocked his head. “What did we decide?”

Percy started to answer, _‘I don’t think we got that far,’_ when his drowsy mind woke up. He pushed up on one elbow and touched Newt’s sleeve. “You’re wearing your blue coat.”

Newt’s smile died. “It was one of the reasons for the delay. Credence informed me that he’d been following the followers meaning he’d been stalking Grindelwald’s people. He led me to a house they’d commandeered outside of the city. We found my wand and coat along with a pile of things belonging to MACUSA.”

Newt’s tone was too bland, too cautious. “What aren’t you saying?”

“I’d been there before, to this house. It was where…” Newt shrugged. “You know.”

“Ah.”

“I didn’t want to tell you.”

“I should have burned it to the ground.”

“You won’t have to,” Newt said with suspiciously bright eyes. “I made sure everyone was clear and torched it.” He cleared his throat. “It was most satisfying.”

 _‘Oh, Newt,’_ Percy wanted to say, settling for, “Where’s the suitcase?”

Newt nodded to the closed door; beside it stood the suitcase, secured by a thick rope.

“Where are the children?”

Newt glanced down. “About that…” He touched one of Percy’s shirt buttons. “I decided that another change of scenery might not be in their best interests. Credence is doing well and Modesty was…” He unfastened the button. “Reluctant to come, so Queenie and Jacob agreed to look after them both.” He fastened the button again. “Tina said she’d help.”

“My mother and grandmother went to Paris. They’ll be back in a fourteen days.”

“Oh.”

A curl of intoxicating lust washed over Percy, making his skin prickle and his heart race. “Two week alone with no interruptions. Whatever will we do?”

Instead of answering, Newt said, mostly to the button he was now unfastening again, “Do you know the sad thing about Walpurgis Night? I mean the real Walpurgis Night, not the one bastardized by Muggles.”

“No, I don’t. What’s the sad thing about Walpurgis Night?”

Newt moved on to another button. “It’s that, unlike the Muggle version, it’s a little boring. No gluttonous feasts, no dancing madly, no orgies.” Newt slipped his fingers between the opening of Percy’s shirt. “And that’s sad because I quite like the idea of you writhing about in the throes of all-consuming passion.”

“Is that an invitation?” The words were a tease and a cue because he’d said them before in a much different and yet similar situation.

Newt looked up, meeting Percy’s gaze directly. “It is. Would you care to retire to the suitcase?”

“No.”

“Where, then? Upstairs?”

Newt made to get up but Percy grabbed his sleeve. And then very slowly, he unfastened a third button and tried not to shiver. “Not upstairs. Here.”

Newt sat back. “I—” He looked up and around, taking in the glass windows and ceiling, the several doors. “Here?”

Percy reached up and curled his hand around Newt’s neck. “Here.”

If Newt wanted to object, Percy didn’t give him the opportunity—he kissed Newt’s mouth, then again when Newt didn’t open to him. _Newt, it has to be here,_ he wanted to say. _There are no paintings or anyone around to tell the tale but Zora and she’d never. I’ve been in hiding for so long and am so tired of it. I know you’re tired of it, too._

So no, he hadn’t spoken aloud but Newt took a shallow breath and then as if he had, and they were kissing and kissing, quick exchanges that just as quickly took on the tang of desperation and need.

And Percy supposed it was, supposed _he_ was. Desperate for Newt, needy and hungry and empty…

He made a sharp sound at the back of his throat and then pushed Newt back and began to remove Newt’s clothes, using just his hands and no magic.

Newt, of course, helped which wasn’t help at all and in a second they were both getting in each other’s way and it was all so familiar and not and then they were mostly naked, or naked enough…

Feeling as if he were treading knee-deep through the white wave that could either crush or soothe, Percy lay back and brought Newt on top of him. He gulped at the touch of Newt’s body; Newt moaned.

“It’s so odd,” Newt murmured into Percy’s chest.

“What’s so odd?”

“This.” Newt kissed the center of Percy’s breast. “I feel as if we’ve never done this before which is silly because of…” He rubbed his cheek against Percy’s sternum. “…course we have.”

“I know,” Percy murmured. “Me, too.”

Newt looked up. He held Percy’s gaze for the longest time. And then, without releasing his gaze, he moved down.

Percy held his breath.

They’d been here before, weeks ago when work and responsibilities were all he could think of. It hadn’t helped that he’d never acted as recipient or giver—there was something too intimate, too raw about it and so he’d always said no. Now, he reached down to stroke Newt’s mouth with his thumb. “Yes,” he said simply. “Yes, please.”

Newt flushed and bit his lip. He lowered his head.

Fingers curled in Newt’s hair, Percy let go of the breath he was holding as he let his leg fall off the loveseat. Exposed and caught out only not, he stared blindly through the transparent ceiling.

***

They woke up when the sun disappeared behind the late afternoon clouds. Dressing in the minimal amount of clothes and gathering the rest, they stumbled upstairs. A few of the portraits hem’d and haw’d but most just looked on benignly. When they got to the suite, Percy started to show Newt the bathroom and study but Newt just set the suitcase and his boots down and tossed his armload of clothing on a chair. Before Percy could say anything, he took Percy’s and threw them on top of his.

Shoes off and clothes cast aside, they got into bed, slipping between the cool sheets. Percy drew back the curtains with an absentminded hand, revealing the long bank of windows. It was raining and he was suddenly reminded of that first time, a cocoon of no time and no duty and he turned to Newt. “Do you remember?” he asked.

Newt swallowed and tried to smile. “I never forgot.”

Percy almost winced. He reached out and stroked Newt’s chin with his thumb. “I know I’ve already said it, but I’m sorry. I just wasn’t ready.”

“For what?”

“For you.”

Newt made a soft sound, a kind of husky protest and pushed Percy to his back. He slipped on top and stroked Percy’s hair off his forehead. “Shall I remind you, next time you’re so inclined?”

Percy spread his legs, making a place for Newt. “There’s not going to be a next time. I learned my lesson.”

Newt nudged, spreading Percy’s legs wider. “I think, given the circumstances, that I should be the judge of that.”

Tipping his head back, offering his throat in lieu of his scorched heart, Percy murmured, “Have at it.”

Newt did, taking control of the situation, bewitching in a tin of the salve they’d used that first time, doing what he had to until Percy was a mindless mix of reaction and response. Legs wrapped around Newt’s waist, mesmerized by Newt’s expression and holding on to Newt’s stone-hard arms, Percy thought to tell Newt that he loved him but Newt twisted his hips and pressed hard. Just like that, Percy’s words scattered and he was once more unmade and undone.

***

“I brought tea and coffee.”

Percy smiled and didn’t open his eyes—it was too much effort. “I can smell it.”

After a long moment and a soft clink of china on metal, Newt asked, “How are you?”

“You mean, did you hurt me?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never been better.”

“Good.”

Percy made his eyes open. He was flat on his stomach, one arm hanging over the mattress. The bedclothes were mostly on the floor though a sheet had been drawn over him, probably for modesty’s sake and he smiled. Thoughtful Newt doing thoughtful things. “I remember your brother saying one time that you were one of the most oblivious creatures he’d ever had the misfortune to meet,” he murmured into the sheet. It had been after his second or third visit to the Scamander’s house in London. He’d been dazed by Thee’s parents and confused by his attitude towards his young brother.

“I would say that’s an accurate assessment.”

Percy turned over. Newt was pouring coffee into a teacup. He was wearing his old robe, the one in Hufflepuff colors. His hair was wet. “Did you bathe?”

“I did. Your bathroom is big enough for an entire quidditch team.”

“You should see my parent’s, and I would say that you’re not oblivious in the least. In fact, I’d say it’s an inaccuracy of the highest degree.”

“That’s because I love you and you love me,” Newt said, setting a cup on the bedside table. “I irritate most others.”

Newt started to turn away but Percy grabbed the robe’s sash and then sat up. He reeled Newt in. “I do,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I love you so much and if others don’t see you as you are, that’s their problem.”

Newt’s mouth worked. He started to bend down to kiss Percy, but Percy had other ideas. Slowly, not dropping Newt’s gaze, he untied Newt’s sash. And then slipped his arms around Newt’s waist. “Payment in kind?” he asked, running his hands down Newt’s backside.

Newt flushed and nodded.

***

This time it was Percy that stayed awake, holding Newt while he slept. The rain stopped eventually and the moon came out. It wasn’t a particularly picturesque moon but Percy thought it might as well be because he felt a sense of completeness, a kind of _everything is how it should be._ For a short while he’d felt the same back in Yorkshire; more fool him for not accepting it for the sign it was.

He sighed, not unhappily. Newt sighed, too. Smiling and very carefully, Percy slid from under Newt and then covered him with the bedclothes.

He got up and went to the window. He stretched. He’d bent the truth when he’d told Newt that he was fine—he did hurt, just a little, but it was nothing he minded and he wasn’t going to heal it with a wave of his hand. It served a purpose, after all.

“What are you doing?”

He turned. So, not careful after all, for Newt was awake and sitting up, his arms wrapped around his knees. “Just wondering if I’m hungry.”

“Are you?”

“I think so.” He went to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. “What about you?”

Newt smiled. “Famished.”

“Come on,” Percy said as he took Newt’s hand. “Though you might be disappointed if you expected real food. The family has been away for months.”

Newt let himself be pulled up. “As long as you’re eating with me, I don’t care.”

***

Like before, they didn’t bother dressing beyond what decency demanded. Percy lit the way, using his wand as a torch. “My parents put in electricity years ago,” he said as they descended the back stairs. “But my grandmother was so upset about it that they rarely use it.”

“She’s your mother’s mother, yes?”

“Hm, mm. She’s from the Roche side of the family.”

“What happened to your grandfather?”

“He died when I was a baby. I never knew what happened. My parents only say that he passed on in ‘98.”

“Maybe he ran away with another woman.”

Percy stopped so suddenly that Newt bumped into him. And then he grinned. “That’s what I thought. I never had the nerve to ask Grandmother.”

Newt slipped his hand in Percy’s. “She scares me, too.”

They began walking again.

“Your grandmother said there’s a Marbled Kelpie living nearby,” Newt said.

“Now I see,” Percy replied with as much ire as possible. They had reached the long corridor that would take them to the kitchens.

Newt frowned. “Now you see what?”

“I knew you had an ulterior motive when you said you wanted to visit. Now I see that it’s the kelpie and not me that drew you here.” Percy held his breath and was happily rewarded when Newt grinned and pinned him against the paneled wall, kissing him until his smile and breath were gone.

***

When they got to the kitchens, Percy used the electric light because it was just better, then went to the pantry. “I wasn’t joking when I said the larder might be empty.”

“It’s all right,” Newt said. “I don’t mind making something.”

“If you can avoid a repeat of that beef stew, I will love you forever.”

Newt snorted as Percy opened the pantry doors. “It wasn’t that bad. The meat was a little…” Newt’s words died as they both stared at the pantry.

“Well,” Percy said, adding after a moment, “I see she planned ahead,” for the shelves were full of food. Breads and cheeses and even tins of meat pies and soups. He went to one of the shelves and picked up a can. Condensed Tomato Soup, something he’d loved as a child, mostly because it came from a no-maj grocer.

“I’m confused,” Newt said.

Percy put the can back. “Why?”

“Because from everything you said and from everything I saw, I thought your mother—” Newt stopped talking and busied himself with a jar of orange marmalade.

“Disliked you,” Percy murmured, finishing for Newt.

Newt unscrewed the jar’s lid and held it to his nose. “This smells delicious and yes, I thought she did.”

“I thought she did, too.” With the light behind them, Newt’s face was in shadow but Percy could still see the tiny flash of pain. “It was my fault,” he said, taking the jar away. “I was never honest with her, so she couldn’t be honest with me.” He screwed lid back on. Newt obviously liked marmalade; they’d make a late breakfast. Breakfast for supper, another thing he’d loved as a child—how had he forgotten that? “I think all this food shows how wrong I was.”

“How so?”

“My parents rarely stay here anymore. This is enough food for months and this…” He held up the jar and turned it so Newt could see the label. “This came from Woodland’s. My mother only shops there on special occasions or when she has an honored guest.” He held the jar out; when Newt made to take it, Percy pulled his head down to give him a most heartfelt kiss.

Newt took Percy’s kiss and gave it back in full. When they parted, he said, “I’m not one for looking back, Percy. You apologized and I accepted it.”

“So the die is cast?”

“The die was cast a long time ago.”

Against the honesty of Newt’s reply, Percy could only take his hand and say, “Let’s eat downstairs. I’m sure your animals are wondering where you’ve got to.”

***

They made breakfast in the suitcase house and then ate in Frank’s old enclosure. It was lovely and quiet and when they were done, Percy wanded everything away. They went to the house and made love in their own bed, Newt tasting of marmalade and toast.

***

The minutes turned into hours and then days. Newt spent much of the time in the woods collecting specimens and curiosities while searching for the Marbled Kelpie. Percy read some and slept a lot. When he wasn’t reading or sleeping, he was with Newt.

On the third afternoon, lazing about in bed because they could, Newt told Percy of his revelation about time. Percy thought on it, the whys and wherefores of the notion, finally agreeing that Newt was right. They might live longer than no-maj’s but that didn’t mean they could waste the time they had.

After that, he consciously spent time, marking the special moments, the things he wanted to remember long into old age: The way Newt startled when the poltergeist, bored in Aunt Mimsie’s room, paid them a visit. Or the way Newt looked after they’d run indoors to escape a sudden thunderstorm. Wet and lovely, his eyes wide with joy, Percy had pushed him into the conservatory and stripped them both bare. He’d climbed onto Newt’s lap and they’d made a wild kind of love, an echo of the tumult outside. Later, collapsed against Newt and needing to move because his knees hurt, he’d thought, _‘I’ll remember this; I’ll remember this and I won’t go back to the old me.’_

So, the minutes turned into hours and then days and finally weeks. Towards the end of the second week, Percy began to feel a slight _tristesse_ that turned the golden days blue. He wasn’t ready to return, he realized. He’d felt the same back in April but then he’d wanted to stay because he was afraid to go back. Now, he wanted to stay because he was happy.

He was thinking on that as he returned from a trip to the grocer’s. He set the sack on the kitchen counter and went to find Newt. Upstairs to what had become Newt’s work room, and then back down, his contentment fading and his heart beating faster because it meant nothing that he couldn’t find Newt. Newt liked to be outside investigating the flora and fauna and the whatnot. No one had kidnapped him and he hadn’t run off.

Percy was still assuring himself that all was fine when he strode out to back terrace. He stopped. Huddled in his blue coat and facing the pond, Newt was sitting on the wide railing, examining the water through his binoculars. On the far side of the pond was a staked piece of chicken. Newt had put it out earlier in hopes that it would tempt the kelpie. Percy hadn’t said that he thought the creature would prefer live game—he wasn’t the expert, after all.

“No luck?” Percy asked, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Not as such,” Newt replied without looking around. “I thought I saw something earlier but it was just a duck.”

Newt had been out gathering local flora again. Percy nudged the pile of flowers and weeds to the side and climbed up on the railing. The stone was cold and damp. “Are you sure the pond is big enough to hold a kelpie?”

“As kelpies are rather small creatures, it’s more than big enough.”

“Oh,” Percy said, picking up a sprig of _Verbena officinalis_ from the pile. “I thought they were the same size as humans.”

“No, that’s an old wives’ tale. Kelpies are a bit bigger than doxies; about the size of a Muggle house cat.”

Percy put the verbena down and picked up another cutting, this one a wild rose. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to see it.”

Newt smiled. “I’m not. We’ll be back.”

Percy turned and crossed his legs. He rested his elbows on his knees. “Newt?”

“Hm?”

“Grindelwald is gone.”

“Yes, he is.”

“And Credence has returned to the fold.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“Which means MACUSA doesn’t need you anymore.”

Newt adjusted the binoculars. “If that’s your way of asking if I’m staying, Percival Gondulphus Graves, I’m going to be very angry.”

Percy reached over and stroked Newt’s ear with the rose and then smiled when Newt shivered. “I wasn’t. Not really.”

“Hmph. And I think you’re wrong—MACUSA’s going to need every abled body they can get their hands on.”

Percy twirled the rose; some of the pollen sprinkled off to land in tiny golden heaps on the balustrade. “About that…”

“Yes?” Newt finally looked away from the pond, adding immediately and a little crabbily, “If you bruise those petals anymore, I’m going to make you go out and get another. That rose grows on the slope of that rocky escarpment on the other side of the river.”

“Meaning it was difficult to find.”

“Yes, it was.”

Percy grinned and laid the rose down. “Sorry. Anyway, I was thinking that it would be a good idea to add a new department.”

“And that would be?”

“Creatures. Magical creatures that could assist us in our work.” Newt’s crabbiness disappeared and Percy hid a smile—he knew his decision would make Newt happy. “I’m not doing it just for you; I’ve seen firsthand how valuable they can be, especially Dougal, and no,” he added before Newt could speak, “I don’t want them in the field, per se. But I think we can use their abilities in other ways.”

Newt nodded several times. “I’ll ask them.”

“Thank you.” He rolled his shoulders; they’d made love twice last night and his back was a little sore. “I’m putting Goldstein in charge of the division with assistance from you, Wildes, and Corey.”

Newt lost all trace of a smile. “Why?”

“Because she’s the best qualified and she already likes you.”

Newt actually sniffed. “Not that. Why Wildes and Corey? All they’ll do is bicker and argue.”

Percy shrugged. “Well, that stands to reason doesn’t it?”

“How do you mean?”

“Because they’re…” Percy shrugged and then again. “You know.”

“No, I don’t know. To what are you referring?”

Percy had never spoken of it aloud and he found rather difficult to say, “They’re lovers. They have been for years.”

Newt’s eyebrows went up.

“You didn’t know?” Percy asked; it seemed impossible—he thought everyone knew.

“No,” Newt said slowly. “I had no idea. But then,” he added reflectively, “I find them as annoying as they most likely find me. Do you think anyone knows about us?”

“Do you care?”

Newt snorted. “If I cared what people thought of me, I’d stay at home and never go out.”

That didn’t quite answer Percy’s question but that was all right—hadn’t he been thinking that it was time to stop worrying about other people’s opinions? “Well, they are and Tina will keep them in line. What is all this, by the way,” he said, nodding to the curious mixture of plants. “What are you going to do with _Urtica dioica?”_ he added, not touching the spiny leaves of the plant.

“It’s for your mother.”

Percy looked up. “For my— Why? Is she ill?”

“She’s pregnant.” Newt turned. “Didn’t you know?”

Turnabout was fair play it seemed was Percy’s numb thought as his jaw dropped.

“By your expression I take it that’s a ‘no.’”

“Yes,” Percy said in a daze. “I mean, no, I didn’t know. She didn’t tell me.”

“Maybe she’s waiting to see if she carries to term.”

Whatever showed on Percy’s face made Newt’s expression change. He sat the binoculars down and reached for Percy’s hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything—” He drew a deep breath. “Although my expertise lies with the animal world, we wizards share traits and tendencies with all living things. Your mother’s age will make a pregnancy more difficult but it will be just that. She’s in no danger.”

Percy said nothing.

“Late pregnancies among our kind are not an uncommon thing. Gertrude Guant the Elder had two children when she was past the age of sixty.”

Percy nodded.

“And I believe Emeline Burke’s daughter was born when Emeline was almost seventy. Emeline took the baby with her on her expedition to Peru where she managed to record the first Peruvian Granian ever to be captured on film. Emeline fell down a crevasse when the granian flew away but she and the baby survived.”

“I believe you, Newt, I’m just—” He pointed to the plants lying between them. “What can these do?”

Newt picked up one of the plants; it was tall with three bright red leaves. “Ease her time. Help with any nausea and her eventual confinement. It would be beneficial if you had a bit of _Malva sylvestris_ , but I couldn’t find any. At least, not in its natural state.”

“Where does it grow naturally?”

“Near my parent’s house in Yorkshire, for one. I can floo over there on Monday or Tuesday if you like.”

“Yes, please.”

Neither said anything for a moment and then Newt set the plant down and took Percy’s hand again. “What are you thinking?”

“That my parents should have told me,” he said slowly. “That this was probably the reason why my grandmother came back to the States in the first place.” He shrugged, remembering the conversations with his mother, her surprising honesty and her reticence, the latter no known only in hindsight. “That she must be frightened.” He made himself smile. “I mean my mother.”

“I know who you meant.” Newt began playing with Percy’s fingers, spreading them out and stroking them one by one. “She’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

Percy didn’t respond.

“Percy?”

“Yes?”

Newt looked up. “Have you ever wanted children?”

Once more, Percy’s mouth dropped in surprise. “I—” he began, then shook his head. “No. Why?”

“It’s the way of things, isn’t it?” Newt said with a shrug and the edge of a smile. “My work with animals has shown me that a specie’s main modus operandi, if you will, is the continuance of that species. We’re no different.”

Percy frowned, suddenly remembering those first years at MACUSA. He’d paid scant attention when his fellow employees entered into romances and then eventually married and had children. It was only when he’d realized that it wouldn’t be his lot did he feel a strange isolation, as if he’d been pushed out of a circle he’d never known he was standing within. The memory held the flavor of a worn bitterness and when he spoke again, his voice was low, “I don’t like to waste time thinking about something that will never happen, Newt.”

Surprisingly, Newt grinned.

“What?” Percy asked as he tried to hold on to his irascibility because, as always, Newt’s smile was charmingly infectious.

“It’s not a waste to want something you might never have,” Newt said. “You’re allowed, Percy.”

“You speak from experience, I suppose,” Percy said without really thinking his words through.

Newt lifted Percy’s hand and kissed his palm. “Of course I do. And look what I received as a reward.”

Percy stroked Newt’s cheek with his thumb, apology and acknowledgement, adding, “I suppose all this leads to the question whether or not _you_ want children.”

“Thee will no doubt marry at one point, but I want my own, as well.”

“Assuming that you stay with me, how do you propose to get those children? Unless you know something about wizard biology that I don’t, it will never happen.”

“No, we’re much like any other creature but that doesn’t bind us to one mode of existence. You and I are living proof of the concept.”

“Newt,” Percy began, intending to say _‘I can’t cope with this as well as the news of my mother so can we just shelve the children talk?’_ but he didn’t want to hurt Newt so he ended with a weak, “As it’s our last night, I thought we might celebrate. I went to Woodland’s.”

If Newt objected to the clumsy change of subject, he didn’t make mention of it. He just said, “I hope you got more of that marmalade.”

“I forgot,” Percy lied—he’d bought all they had, seven jars of the stuff. When they got home, he’d put it in their cupboards on the sly. “But they had a pheasant and a barrel of potatoes from South Carolina and champagne from France.”

“Champagne and pheasant. It will be a feast.”

***

Later, Percy thought that it had to be their last night that made the rest of the evening so memorable. They made dinner and ate it in the smallest dining room, then took their brandy to the drawing room and sat by the big hearth. Zora joined them at one point and she flew to her perch by the painting of Greyfield and watched them fondly.

It was lovely and cozy and they both were silent as the fire cracked and popped. Percy was half asleep when Newt got up and went to the side table. With a muttered incantation and a wave of his wand, he conjured up a phonograph and a stack of record disks. He placed a record on the plate and cranked the machine up. In a moment, the quiet was filled with a scratchy but romantic tune. Then he turned to Percy and held out his hand.

Remembering, _‘I wish you and I could go out for dinner. Or to a club,’_ and his own abrupt answer, Percy took Newt’s hand let himself be pulled up. He wrapped his arms around Newt’s waist and stepped in close.

He’d danced, of course, but only when forced to. It had never felt like this, a hard body pressed against his, legs bumping and mingling and he found himself humming to the tune, his head on Newt’s shoulder. They would do this again, he promised himself. A privacy spell was as easy as easy, and if they couldn’t go to a club, they could at least have this at home.

“Hmm?” Newt said, his voice low in Percy’s ear.

“It’s nothing.”

They danced until the song was over and then, as one, turned to the door. Without a word and without taking his hand from Newt’s, Percy put out the hearth fire and said goodnight to Zora.

They closed up the house and went upstairs.

His grand, romantic plan had been one of a candlelight supper and then a full night of lovemaking. But the urgency was no longer there and they changed into pajamas and got into bed. Newt picked up the book he’d been reading— _Fantastical Creatures of Central and Latin America_ —and Percy curled up on his side and closed his eyes, his foot against Newt’s ankle.

He lay there for a long while listening to the creak of the house, the sound of paper rustling when Newt turned a page or wrote something in the margins. As sleep tugged, he found himself thinking about the days to come—the preparation for Grindelwald’s eventual attack, the Aurors recently lost, his mother…

He should be terrified that he’d once more have the opportunity to ruin another life because he knew he was soon to have another sister. The air had been whispering the knowledge for days now—he’d been too focused on Newt to listen.

But—and he reached out and touched Newt’s pajama top—it would be different, he knew that, too. His mother had always said Dindrane’s death wasn’t his fault, that life was full of chances, good and bad. He should have listened to her, too.

“What is it?”

Percy slipped his hand beneath striped blue cotton and curved his palm over Newt’s hip. “It’s nothing,” he said without opening his eyes, truly meaning it this time because he was suddenly happy, suddenly at peace.

As if he heard, Newt hummed and sighed.

Percy fell into sleep that way, Newt’s skin warm under his hand, surrounded by the white wave.

 


	7. Coda

Coda

  
One would think, Newt mused as he padded along the hall, that it was the dead of winter and not late spring. The stone floor was freezing and if he’d been thinking clearly he would have put on his boots or at least slippers. Or brought his wand. But he hadn’t been thinking clearly when he’d woken up at midnight and slipped out of bed. Pulled by twin desires: stay with Percy or find the kelpie that had eluded him thus far, it hadn’t been a hard a choice. Not that he would ever tell Percy that. And not that it was really true—if push came to shove, he’d always choose Percy.

Greyfield stood on a rocky promontory amid untamed forests and valleys. It had rained during the day and the newborn rushes that bordered what Percy had called the ‘old scrying pond’ had been wet and muddy. Newt had stood there in the dark, breath caught, waiting. Nothing had happened and the kelpie hadn’t shown. When it had gotten too cold, he’d moved to the terrace with the same amount of luck. Finally, he’d decided that it was a lost cause and went back inside.

The thing was, he’d exited from one door and entered from another and had gotten lost as soon as he ascended one staircase. Greyfield was a hodgepodge of design eras and building styles and he supposed that’s why it was so devilishly confusing. It was as if different builders from different ages had fashioned the house in sections and then had thrown it altogether higgledy-piggledy. Staircases that led literally nowhere, passages that were no longer than one of Frank’s wings—it was all a jumble and it didn’t help that Percy had only lit the lamps in their corridor and nowhere else. It also didn’t help that as Newt traveled, his anxiousness grew.

He hadn’t been surprised when he’d realized that Percy didn’t like having him gone or that Percy grew perturbed when they were separated by more than a few hours. He knew why—Percy had of course told him, _‘I lived that same week, Newt. Everyone said you would be back and I believed them only I didn’t, too.’_

That was the moment, Newt thought, slowing down and stopping. That was the moment that he had realized how much Percy loved him and he felt it all over again, the incredible not-quite-there-but-all-the-same-too-much joy. Percy loved him, truly did, and nothing would ever be th—

“Who approaches?”

Newt jumped and half twisted around, reaching for the wand that wasn’t there. The corridor, as far as he could see, was empty. “Hello?”

“Curse it,” the voice muttered, then called out louder, “Philo? Can you give us a light?”

A light grew from the other side of the corridor until the hall was as bright as day. Newt suddenly realized where he was: in the east wing near Percy’s parent’s rooms. Percy had shown him around that first week, casually nodding to the paintings as they had passed by but not introducing Newt to any.

Now, the man in the painting nearest rose from his stone couch and said, “Oh, it’s you, Scamander.”

Newt bowed and said, “Good evening, sir.”

“‘Evening?’” the painted man repeated, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “More like good morning. What’s got you creeping about like a thief, boy?”

Newt peered at the brass plate nailed to the picture frame: Huritt de la Roche. Huritt was strikingly handsome, dressed in a leather loincloth and shin-high leather boots. A brightly patterned blanket hung over his shoulder and his sculpted hair was adorned with feathers and bits of leather. Most interestingly, he had tattoos on his face, shoulders, and arms. Newt had met many people who had tattooed their bodies and he wanted very badly to ask Huritt what the markings meant but didn’t like to be rude. This was Percy’s family, after all.

“Well?” Huritt demanded. “Cat got your tongue?”

Newt smiled. For some reason, the artist had painted Huritt resting on a marble couch while game of different varieties bounded about in the background. “Not as such. I was just thinking that it must be very frustrating having those deer prance about without getting a chance at them.”

Huritt raised an eyebrow. “It is. And that’s a very astute observation. If I’d known what it would be like, I would have insisted on a quiver full of arrows.”

“You have your wand,” Newt said, nodding to the slim wand tucked in Huritt’s woven belt.

“That thing,” Huritt growled. “Even in this painted world, it’s just for show.” He returned to his couch and sat down with a sigh. “I lost my wand in one of the many wars between the French and the English. I was making another when our camp was ambushed. It was there I received my mortal blow.”

“I’m sorry,” Newt said. He could trace some of Percy in Huritt’s speech inflection and gestures and for the first time, he saw the connection that Percy had mentioned. So intriguing. “You made your own wand? What type of wood did you use?”

“Whatever was on hand, though I always preferred ash,” Huritt said with a shrug. “And of course we made our own wands. Don’t you?”

Newt shook his head. “I bought mine in a shop in England.”

“Hmph,” Huritt said, crossing his arms over his chest again. “That’s the problem with you young folk; you don’t know how to do anything anymore. You just believe that magic will take care of all life’s problems. It doesn’t.”

Newt hid a grin; he’d heard the same thing from his mother from time to time. “Who was your artist, by the way? I can’t make out the name.”

“She was a clever young lady by the name of Madame Le Barbeau. She came calling one day and stayed three years.” Huritt relaxed a little. “She painted all the families, the Whites and my people.”

“Speaking of,” Newt said, stepping closer, “I’m confused by Percy’s lineage. Roche and Graves and Deerhouse—it’s all very perplexing.”

“Hmph,” Huritt said again, but this time smiling very slightly. “Try adding the Kakarentha’s and the Thekahawitha’s. That will make your head spin.” Huritt gesturing widely. “The line of my people is like a river that’s been stepped in too many times.”

Newt was about to ask Huritt what branch of the family he came from when their conversation was interrupted by a low pitched, “What is going on here? What are you doing up so late, my love?”

There was movement from the left in the painting and a plump, fair-haired woman came into view. She was wearing a pink satin dress with wide skirts and a matching pink shawl. She glanced around, her expression changing when she saw Newt. She hurried to the frame and blew Newt a kiss. “Here you are at last, my dear. I’ve been so wanting to meet you but you’re always out scampering about in the woods. At least that’s what Mother Graves says. Why have you never come up for a visit?”

“I’m—”

She waved his words away. “No need for apologies. I wanted to meet Percy’s young man and now I suppose I have.”

Newt flushed.

The woman came closer to the frame. “We know who you are, of course—you’re Theseus Scamander’s younger brother. I must say, we were all relieved when we realized it was you and not your brother that had caught Percy’s heart. That boy, Theseus, could charm the comb off a rooster but he was forever running about and getting into situations.”

“I—”

“And I’m your Aunt Patience. Rather, I would be if you and Percy married but even so, you may call me Aunt Patience or Patience, if you feel the need for a less formal appellation.”

Cheeks still burning, Newt opened his mouth but once again, Patience interrupted him.

“We have you to thank, don’t we, for Percy’s presence. It’s high time that boy came home, though I know he’s not staying for long. Mother Graves overheard him saying to you that you two will be making regular visits to Greyfield and that will almost be as good.” She came closer to the picture frame and put her hand on her bodice. “It was so dreadful, what happened. But no matter what anyone could say, Percy took it hard and blamed himself.”

Among the flurry of words, Newt remembered the house in Yorkshire and Percy’s, _‘And you know as well that it doesn’t make it any less my fault.’_ He unstuck his mouth enough to say, “I think he’s coming to terms with Dindrane’s death.”

Patience clasped her hands together and smiled softly. “My dear. See?” she said, turning to Huritt. “I told you he would be good for Percy.”

“You’re embarrassing the boy, Patty,” Huritt said.

“Am I?” Patience turned back to the frame and then tipped her head. “So I am,” she said. And then she shook her head, her curls bouncing. “You surely can’t think you and Percy are the first in the family? Goodness me, no. There was Lilly Ann and John Roche— the first John, not the second—and so many others. And when it’s not dark o’clock in the morning, you must ask Huritt about Percy’s great-grandfather Tyor.”

“Yes,” Huritt agreed with a nod of his head. “Tyor was a fine warrior. All the women loved him, but he only had eyes for—” Huritt frowned and turned to Patience. “What was his name, my dear? I can’t for the life of me remember.”

“Thiebaut. Thiebaut de la Fontane. He was in Céloron’s expeditionary forces under Lieutenant Vieau. He died, of course—” Patience glanced up at Newt. “Vieau, I mean. Céloron lived on to cause havoc among the People, and of course Tyor and Thiebaut, well…” She shook her head again and went to the couch. Huritt held out his arm and she curled into his embrace. “So much death and destruction, Newton, but there was also love and life. If you ever have doubts, you must remember that.”

“I will.”

“Now to bed with you.” Patience yawned behind her hand. “Your uncle needs his rest or he will be impossible tomorrow.”

Huritt snorted once more. “Please tell Percy to visit again. I do enjoy talking to him.”

Newt nodded. “I will.”

Huritt craned his head. “Philo? The light, please.”

Just like that the hall returned to darkness. Newt stood there for a moment, trying to get his bearings both mentally and physically. Then, he turned and went back the way he came.

Instead of returning to the back stairs, he took the safer path of the front, walking swiftly but musing on the conversation both the recent and the one from earlier in the evening. Children and sisters and now Uncle Tyor, it was almost too much to take in. When he was young, he’d overheard Percy tell Theseus that he hated Greyfield because it was so boring. Perspective was everything, Newt decided as he turned into the hallway that led to Percy’s rooms. Greyfield might be many things, but boring wasn’t one of them.

Still thinking hard, he’d just reached the bedroom and had his hand on the doorknob when something, maybe a breath of air, made him look around. Gas lamps lit the hallway but the light only reached a man’s length on either side. Standing just at the edge of the shadow was a longhaired girl, dressed in a robe and nightgown. Newt started to ask if she’d got lost, too, when the lamps all shivered and the girl did, too.

He’d always pictured Dindrane as small and fragile. She wasn’t—though young, she was dark and tall and beautiful with a long neck and high cheekbones. He raised a hand in greeting. Startled, she stepped back. But then she stilled. She stared at him for a flash of a second and then raised her hand, too.

Newt wasn’t fool enough to test her further but he wanted to say hello. Before he could, she faded into the air, leaving only the beginnings of a smile.

He swallowed. Other than the spirits at Hogwarts, he’d never seen a ghost before and compared to _them—_

Unable to help a slight, delighted shiver, he opened the door.

Percy was sitting in a chair, half dressed, pulling on his boots. “Where’ve you been?”

“I—” Newt gripped the doorknob, at a loss.

They were leaving in the morning. Back to their normal lives and the constraints that normality brought.

He wasn’t fool enough to think all of Percy’s reservations and worries would vanish overnight, just as he didn’t want to mar their last night with news of what might or might not have been a sighting of a dead sister. He didn’t want to relate the conversation with Patience because it stepped too close to a subject that Percy had always avoided—the news of Wildes and Cory was very much a case in point.

And then there was Modesty and Credence…

‘ _By all accounts she twisted young Modesty’s mind like a top. If the girl doesn’t end up in Azkaban…’_

Newt had been fretting over those words ever since Albus had uttered them, turning them over and over in the back of his mind. He knew Modesty only a little, but he liked that little very much. Modesty could so easily end up like Ronnok. She’d had such a horrible start thanks to that horrible woman. People were already afraid of her. Tina and Queenie were all right but Picquery was waiting for the girl to turn. Newt could practically _see_ it, just as he’d seen his creatures abused at the hands of people who were afraid of _them_. He wanted Modesty to have a life full of happiness but to do that she needed to be around those who loved her and accepted her for who she was. He was more than willing to take up the charge but there was Percy. Percy who wasn’t sure he wanted children, who hadn’t even really thought about it.

He could camouflage and lie and slip around the truth, hoping to arrive at a concord as he’d sometimes done in the past. But if Percy was tired of hiding from himself, then so was he. All those times he could have spoken up… He’d only ever acted the coward with one person and it was time to stop. He promised himself he’d do better. He would do better.

And so he smiled and shut the door, mentally girding his loins to figuratively storm Percy’s tower, and said, “I was just chatting with your Aunt Patience. I’ve an idea what to do about Credence and Modesty, and why’ve you never told me of your Uncle Tyor?”

 

 

_fin._


	8. Notes for The White Window

First, much thanks to wolkendunst1 for reading through this beast. I had so many missed words, it was painful. Any mistakes in the story are, of course, mine.

I tried to keep to the times but did fudge a few things in terms of some slang. 'House arrest', for example, didn't come into use until the 30s, as did 'that's the ticket.'

I loved the idea of the Anglo and Native worlds coming together in a not-so-murderous manner, so I built the Graves family on this bit from Pottermore: "The Native American wizarding community was particularly gifted in animal and plant magic, its potions in particular being of a sophistication beyond much that was known in Europe. The most glaring difference between magic practised by Native Americans and the wizards of Europe was the absence of a wand." My headcanon is that the original Graves family was descended from Arthurian era England and when they arrived in the New World, they brought their naming and wizarding traditions with them. On the Native side, I wanted to incorporate some bits from the Iroquois peoples, hence the Great Turtle and the decoration on the furniture, etc. As to the names, 'Chilam,' means 'snowbird,' 'Dena' means 'from the valley' and 'Huritt' means 'handsome.' I figured that by the 1800s, the wizards in the Native world would use wands as well as traditional methods, hence Huritt's comment about losing his wand.

Two of the titles come from James Russell Lowell and Johann von Goethe.


End file.
